a    IN  YELLOW 


"  The  cavalry,— They've  charged  -  run  !  "    Page  35. 


I 


IN  THE   QUARTER 


BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  KING  IN  YELLOW.1' 


F.  TENNYSON   NEELY 

PUBLISHER 
NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


Copyright  1894 
BY  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


GIFT 


in 


TO 

MY  FRIEND 
REGINALD  BATHURST  BIRCH 


966 


IN  THE  QUARTER 

CHAPTER  I 

One  evening  in  May,  1888,  the  Cafe  des  Ecoles 
was  even  more  crowded  and  more  noisy  than 
usual.  The  marble-topped  tables  were  wet  with 
beer  and  the  din  was  appalling.  Some  one 
shouted  to  make  himself  heard. 

"Any  more  news  from  the  Salon?" 

"Yes,"  said  Elliott,  "Thaxton'sin  with  a  num 
ber  three.  Rhodes  is  out  and  takes  it  hard. 
Clifford's  out  too,  and  takes  it — " 

A  voice  began  to  chant: 

"Je  n'  sais  comment  faire, 

Comment  concillier 
Ma  maitresse  et  mon  pere, 

Le  Code  et  Bullier." 

"Drop  it!  Oh,  drop  it!"  growled  Rhodes, 
and  sent  a  handful  of  billiard  chalk  at  the  singer. 

Mr.  Clifford  returned  a  volley  of  the  Cafe 
spoons,  and  continued: 

7 


8  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Mais  c'  que  je  trouve  de  plus  bete, 

C'  est  qu'  i'  faut  financer 
Avec  ma  belle  galette, 

J'aimerai  mieux  m'amuser." 

Several  othsr  voices  took  up  the  refrain, 
lamenting  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  their  filial 
duties  with  balls  at  Bullier's,  and  protesting  that 
they  would  rather  amuse  themselves  than  con 
sider  financial  questions.  Rhodes  sipped  his 
curagpa  sulkily. 

"The  longer  I  live  in  the  Latin  Quarter,"  he 
said  to  his  neighbor,  "the  less  certain  I  feel 
about  a  place  of  future  punishment.  It  would 
be  so  tame  after  this."  Then,  reverting  to  his 
grievance,  he  added,  "The  slaughter  this  year 
at  the  Salon  is  awful." 

Reginald  Gethryn  stirred  nervously,  but  did 
not  speak. 

"Have  a  game,  Rex?"  called  Clifford,  waving 
a  cue. 

Gethryn  shook  his  head,  and  reaching  for  a 
soiled  copy  of  the  Figaro,  glanced  listlessly 
over  its  contents.  He  sighed  and  turned  his 
paper  impatiently.  Rhodes  echoed  the  sigh. 

"What's  at  the  theaters?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  9 

"Same  as  last  week,  excepting  at  the  Gaiete. 
They've  put  on  'La  Belle  Helene'  there." 
"Oh!     Belle  Helene!"  cried  Clifford. 

"Tzing!  la!  la!     Tzing!  la!  la! 

C'est  avec  ces  dames  qu1  Oreste 
Fait  danser  1'argent  de  Papa!" 

Rhodes  began  to  growl  again. 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  feel  like  gibbering 
that  rot  to-night." 

Clifford  smiled  sweetly,  and  patted  him  on 
the  head.  "Tzing!  la!  la!  My  shot,  Elliott?" 

"Tzing!  la!  la!"  laughed  Thaxton,  "That's 
Clifford's  biography  in  three  words." 

Clifford  repeated  the  refrain,  and  winked  im- 
pudendy  at  the  pretty  bookkeeper  behind  her 
railing.  She,  alas!  returned  it  with  a  blush. 

Gethryn  rose  restlessly,  and  went  over  to 
another  table,  where  a  man,  young,  but  older 
than  himself,  sat,  looking  comfortable. 

"Braith,"  he  began,  trying  to  speak  indiffer 
ently,  "any  news  of  my  fate?" 

The  other  man  finished  his  beer  and  then  an 
swered  carelessly,  "No."  But  catching  sight  of 
Gethryn's  face  he  added,  with  a  laugh: 


10  IN  THE  QUARTER 

~Look  here,  Rex,  you've  got  to  stop  this 
moping." 

"I'm  not  moping,"  said  Rex,  coloring  up. 

"What  do  you  call  it,  then?"  Braith  spoke 
with  some  sharpness,  but  continued  kindly, "You 
know  I've  been  through  it  all.  Ten  years  ago, 
when  I  sent  in  my  first  picture,  I  confess  to 
you  I  suffered  the  torments  of  the  damned  un 
til—" 

"Until?" 

"Until  they  sent  me  my  card.  The  color  was 
green." 

"But,  I  thought  a  green  card  meant  'not  ad 
mitted.'" 

"It  does.     I  received  three  in  three  years." 

"Do  you  mean  you  were  thrown  out  three 
years  in  succession?" 

Braith  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "I 
gave  up  smoking  for  those  three  years." 

"You?" 

Braith  filled  his  pipe  tenderly.  "I  was  very 
poor,"  he  said. 

"If  I  had  half  your  sand!" — sighed  Rex. 

"You  have,  and  something  more  that  the  rest 
of  us  have  not.  But  you  are  very  young  yet." 


IN  THE  QUARTER  11 

This  time  Gethryn  colored  with  surprise  and 
pleasure.  In  all  their  long  and  close  friendship 
Braith  had  never  before  given  him  any  other 
encouragement  than  a  cool,  "Go  ahead!" 

He  continued:  "Your  curse  thus  far  has  been 
want  of  steady  application,  and  moreover  you're 
too  easily  scared.  No  matter  what  happens 
this  time,  no  knocking  under!" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  knock  under.  No  more 
is  Clifford,  it  seems,"  Rex  added  with  a  laugh, 
as  Clifford  threw  down  his  cue  and  took  a  step 
of  the  devil's  quadrille. 

"Oh!  Elliott!" he  crowed,  "what's  the  matter 
with  you?" 

Elliott  turned  and  punched  a  sleepy  waiter  in 
the  ribs. 

"Emile — two  bocks!" 

The  waiter  jumped  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 
"What  is  it,  monsieur?"  he  snapped. 

Elliott  repeated  the  order  and  they  strolled 
off  toward  a  table.  As  Clifford  came  lounging  by, 
Carleton  said,  "I  hear  you  lead  with  a  number 
one  at  the  Salon." 

"Right,  I'm  the  first  to  be  fired." 

"He's    calm   now,"    said    Elliott,    "but    you 


12  IN  THE  QUARTER 

should  have  seen  him  yesterday  when  the  green 
card  came." 

"Well,  yes.  I  discoursed  a  little  in  several 
languages." 

"After  he  had  used  up  his  English  profanity, 
he  called  the  Jury  names  in  French,  German  and 
Spanish.  The  German  stuck,  but  came  out  at 
last  like  a  cork  out  of  a  bottle — " 

"Or  a  bung  out  of  a  barrel." 

"These  comparisons  are  as  offensive  as  they 
are  unjust,"  said  Clifford. 

"Quite  so,"  said  Braith.  "Here's  the 
waiter  with  your  beer." 

"What  number  did  you  get,  Braith?"  asked 
Rhodes,  who  couldn't  keep  his  mind  off  the  sub 
ject  and  made  no  pretense  of  trying. 

"Three,"  answered  Braith. 

There  was  a  howl,  and  all  began  to  talk  at 
once. 

"There's  justice  for  you!'*  "No  justice  for 
Americans!"  "Serves  us  right  for  our  tariff!" 
"Are  Frenchmen  going  to  give  us  all  the  advan 
tages  of  their  schools  and  honors  besides  while 
we  do  all  we  can  to  keep  their  pictures  out 
of  our  markets?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER.  13 

"No,  we  don't,  either!  Tariff  only  keeps  out 
the  sweepings  of  the  studios — " 

"If  there  were  no  duty  on  pictures  the  States 
would  be  flooded  with  trash." 

"Take  it  off!"  cried  one. 

"Make  it  higher!"  shouted  another. 

"Idiots!"  growled  Rhodes.  "Let  'em  flood 
the  country  with  bad  work  as  well  as  good.  It 
will  educate  the  people,  and  the  day  will  come 
when  all  good  work  will  stand  an  equal  chance, 
— be  it  French  or  be  it  American." 

"True,"  said  Clifford,  "Let's  all  have  a  bock. 
Where's  Rex?" 

But  Gethryn  had  slipped  out  in  the  confu 
sion.  Quitting  the  Cafe*  des  Ecoles,  he  sauntered 
across  the  street,  and  turning  through  the  Rue 
de  Vaugirard,  entered  the  rue  Monsieur  le 
Prince.  He  crossed  the  dim  courtyard  of  his 
hotel,  and  taking  a  key  and  a  candle  from  the 
lodge  of  the  Concierge,  started  to  mount  the  six 
flights  to  his  bedroom  and  studio.  He  felt 
irritable  and  fagged,  and  it  did  not  make  mat 
ters  better  when  he  found  on  reaching  his  own 
door,  that  he  had  taken  the  wrong  key.  Nor 
did  it  ease  his  mind  to  fling  the  key  over  the 


14  M  THE  QUARTER. 

banisters  into  the  silent  stone  hallway  below. 
He  leaned  sulkily  over  the  railing,  and  listened 
to  it  ring  and  clink  down  into  the  darkness,  and 
then,  with  a  brief  but  vigorous  word,  he  turned 
and  forced  in  his  door  with  a  crash.  Two  bull 
pups  which  had  flown  at  him  with  portentous 
growls  and  yelps  of  menace,  now  gambolled 
idiotically  about  him,  writhing  with  anticipation 
of  caresses,  and  a  gray  and  scarlet  parrot,  rudely 
awakened,  launched  forth  upon  a  musical  effort, 
resembling  the  song  of  a  rusty  cart-wheel. 

"Oh,  you  infernal  bird!"  murmured  the  master, 
lighting  his  candle  with  one  hand  and  fondling 
the  pups  with  the  other.  "There,  there,  pup 
pies,  runaway!"  he  added,  rolling  the  ecstatic 
pups  into  a  sort  of  dog  divan,  where  they  curled 
themselves  down  at  last  and  subsided  with 
squirms  and  wriggles,  gurgling  affection. 

Gethryn  lighted  a  lamp,  and  then  a  cigarette. 
Then,  blowing  out  the  candle,  he  sat  down  with 
a  sigh.  His  eyes  fell  on  the  parrot.  It  annoyed 
him  that  the  parrot  should  immediately  turn 
over  and  look  at  him  upside  down.  It  also  an 
noyed  him  that  "Satan,"  an  evil-looking  raven, 
was  evidently  preparing  to  descend  from  his 
perch  and  worry  "Mrs.  Gum  midge." 


IN  THE  QUARTER.  15 

"Mrs.  Gummidge"  was  the  name  Clifford  had 
given  to  a  large,  sad-eyed,  white  tabby,  who 
now  lay  dozing  upon  a  panther  skin. 

"Satan!"  said  Gethryn.  The  bird  checked 
his  sinister  preparations  and  eyed  his  master. 
"Don't,"  said  the  young  man. 

Satan  weighed  his  chances,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  could  swoop  down,  nip  Mrs. 
Gummidge,  and  get  back  to  his  bust  of  Pallas, 
without  being  caught.  He  tried  it,  but  his  mas 
ter  was  too  quick  for  him,  and  foiled,  he  lay 
sullenly  in  Gethryn's  hands,  his  two  long  claws 
projecting  helplessly  between  the  brown  fists  of 
his  master. 

"Oh,  you  fiend!"  muttered  Rex,  taking  him 
toward  a  wicker  basket,  which  he  hated.  "Soli 
tary  confinement  for  you,  my  boy." 

"Double,  double  toil  and  trouble,"  croaked 
the  parrot. 

Gethryn  started  nervously,  and  shut  him  in 
side  the  cage,  a  regal  gilt  structure  with  "Shake 
speare"  printed  over  the  door.  Then,  replacing 
the  agitated  Gummidge  on  her  panther  skin,  he 
sat  down  once  more,  and  lighted  another  cigar 
ette. 


10  IN  THE  QUARTER 

His  picture.  He  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
It  was  a  serious  matter  with  Gethryn.  Admitted 
to  the  Salon  meant  three  more  years'  study  in 
Paris.  Failure,  and  back  he  must  go  to  New 
York. 

The  personal  income  of  Reginald  Gethryn 
amounted  to  the  magnificent  sum  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars.  To  this,  his  aunt,  Miss  Celes- 
tia  Gethryn,  added  nine  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars  more.  This  gave  him  a  sum  of  twelve  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year  to  live  on  and  study  in  Paris. 
It  was  not  a  large  sum,  but  it  was  princely 
when  compared  to  the  amount  on  which  many 
a  talented  fellow  subsists,  spending  his  best 
years  in  a  foul  atmosphere  of  paint  and  tobacco, 
ill  fed,  ill  clothed,  scarcely  warmed  at  all,  often 
sick  in  mind  and  body,  attaining  his  first  scant 
measure  of  success  just  as  his  overtaxed  powers 
give  way. 

Gethryn's  aunt,  his  only  surviving  relative, 
had  recently  written  hirn  one  of  her  ponderous 
letters.  He  took  it  from  his  pocket,  and  began 
to  read  it  again,  for  the  fourth  time. 

"You  have  now  been  in  Paris  three  years, 
and  as  yet  I  have  seen  no  results.  You  should 


IN  THE  QUARTER  17 

be  earning  your  own  living,  but  instead,  you 
are  still  dependent  upon  me.  You  are  welcome 
to  all  the  assistance  I  can  give  you,  in  reason, 
but  I  expect  that  you  will  have  something  to 
show  for  all  the  money  I  expend  upon  you.  Why 
are  you  not  making  a  handsome  income  and  a 
splendid  reputation,  like  Mr.  Spinder?" 

The  artist  named  was  thirty-five,  and  had 
been  in  Paris  fifteen  years.  Gethryn  was  twenty- 
two,  and  had  been  studying  three  years. 

"Why  are  you  not  doing  beautiful  things,  like 
Mr.  Mousely?  I'm  told  he  gats  a  thousand  dol 
lars  for  a  little  sketch." 

Rex  groansi.  Mr.  Mousely  could  neither 
draw  nor  paint,  but  he  made  stories  of  babies' 
deathbeds,  on  squares  of  canvas,  with  china 
angels  solidly  suspended  from  the  ceiling  of  the 
nursery,  pointing  upward,  and  he  gave  them 
titles  out  of  the  hymn-book,  which  caused  them 
to  be  bought  with  eagerness  by  all  the  mem 
bers  of  the  congregation  to  which  his  family  be 
longed. 

The  letter  proceeded:  — 

"I  am  told  by  many  reliable  persons  that  three 
years  abroad  is  more  than  enough  for  a  thorough 


18  IN  THE  QUARTER 

art  education.  If  no  results  are  attained  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  there  is  only  one  of  two  con 
clusions  to  be  drawn.  Either  you  have  no  talent, 
or  you  are  wasting  your  time.  I  shall  wait  un 
til  the  next  Salon  before  I  come  to  a  decision. 
If  then  you  have  a  picture  accepted  and  if  it 
shows  no  trace  of  the  immorality  which  is  rife 
in  Paris,  I  will  continue  your  allowance  for 
three  years  more;  this,  however,  on  condition 
that  you  have  a  picture  in  the  Salon  each  year. 
If  you  fail  again  this  year,  I  shall  insist  upon 
your  coming  home  at  once." 

Why  Gethryn  should  want  to  read  this  letter 
four  times,  when  one  perusal  of  it  had  been  more 
than  enough,  no  one,  least  of  all  himself,  could 
have  told.  He  sat  now  crushing  it  in  his  hand, 
tasting  all  the  bitterness  that  is  stored  up  for  a 
sensitive  artist  tied  by  fate  to  an  omniscient 
Philistine  who  feeds  his  body  with  bread  and 
his  soul  with  instruction  about  art  and  behavior. 

Presently  he  mastered  the  black  mood  which 
came  near  being  too  much  for  him,  his  face 
cleared  and  he  leaned  back,  quietly  smoking. 
From  the  rug  rose  a  muffled  rumbling  where  Mrs. 
Gurnmidge  dozed  in  peace.  The  clock  ticked 


IN  THE  QUARTER  19 

sharply.      A  mouse   dropped   silently   from   the 
window  curtain,  and   scuttled    away  unmarked. 

The  pups  lay  in  a  soft  heap.  The  parrot  no 
longer  hung  head  downward,  but  rested  in  his 
cage  in  a  normal  position,  one  eye  fixed  steadily 
on  Gethryn,  the  other  sheathed  in  a  bluish- 
white  eyelid,  every  wrinkle  of  which  spoke  scorn 
of  men  and  things. 

For  some  time  Gethryn  had  been  half-con 
scious  of  a  piano  sounding  on  the  floor  below. 
It  suddenly  struck  him  now  that  the  apartment 
under  his,  which  had  been  long  vacant,  must 
have  found  an  occupant 

"Idiots!"  he  grumbled.  "Playing  at  mid 
night!  That  will  have  to  stop.  Singing  too! 
We'll  see  about  that!" 

The  singing  continued,  a  girl's  voice,  only 
passably  trained,  but  certainly  fresh  and  sweet. 

Gethryn  began  to  listen,  reluctantly,  and 
ungraciously.  There  was  a  pause.  "Now  she's 
going  to  stop.  It's  time,"  he  muttered.  But 
the  piano  began  again, — a  short  prelude  which 
he  knew,  and  the  voice  was  soon  in  the  midst  of 
the  Dream  Song  from  "La  Belle  HSlfcne." 

Gethryn    rose   and   walked    to    his    window, 


20  IN  THE  QUARTER 

threw  it  open  and  leaned  out.  An  April'qigbij 
soft  and  delicious.  The  air  was  heavy  with 
perfume  from  the  pink  and  white  chestnut  blos 
soms.  The  roof  dripped  with  moisture.  Far 
down  in  the  dark  court  the  gasjets  flickered 
and  flared.  From  the  distance  came  the  soft 
ened  rumble  of  a  midnight  cab,  which,  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  passing  the  hotel  with 
a  rollicking  rattle  of  wheels  and  laughing  voices, 
died  away  on  the  smooth  pavement  by  the  Lux 
embourg  Gardens.  The  voice  had  stopped  ca 
priciously  in  the  middle  of  the  song.  Gethryn 
turned  back  into  the  room,  whistling  the  air. 
His  eye  fell  on  Satan  sitting  behind  his  bars  in 
crumpled  malice. 

"Poor  old  chap,"  laughed  the  master,  "want 
to  come  out  and  hop  around  a  bit?  Here, 
Gummidge,  we'll  remove  temptation  out  of 
his  way,"  and  he  lifted  the  docile  tabby, 
who  increased  the  timbre  of  her  song  to  an  ec 
static  squeal,  at  his  touch,  and  opening  his  bed 
room  door,  gently  deposited  her  on  his  softest 
blankets.  He  then  reinstated  the  raven  on  his 
bust  of  Pallas,  and  Satan  watched  him  from 
thence  warily,  as  he  fussed  about  the  studio, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  21 

sorting  brushes,  scraping  a  neglected  palette, 
taking  down  a  dressing-gown,  drawing  on  a 
pair  of  easy  slippers,  opening  his  door  and  de 
positing  his  boots  outside.  When  he  returned 
the  music  had  begun  again. 

"What  on  earth  does  she  mean  by  singing  at 
a  quarter  to  one  o'clock?"  he  thought,  and  went 
once  more  to  the  window.  "Why — that  is  really 
beautiful." 

"Oui!     c'est  un  reve,  Oui!  c'  est  un  reve  doux  d'araour. 

La  nuit  lui  prete  son  mystere, 
II  doit  finir, — il  doit  finir  avec  le  jour." 

The  song  of  H£lene  ceased.  Gethryn  leaned 
out  and  gazed  down  at  the  lighted  windows  un- 
dsr  his.  Suddenly  the  light  went  out.  Reheard 
some  one  open  the  window,  and  straining  his 
eyes,  could  just  discern  the  dim  outline  of  a 
head  and  shoulders,  unmistakably  those  of  a  girl. 
She  had  perched  herself  on  the  window-sill. 
Presently  she  began  to  hum  the  air,  then  to  sing 
it  softly.  Gethryn  waited  until  the  words  came 
again: 

"Oui,  c'est  un  reve — " 

and  then  struck  in  with  a  very  sweet  baritone: 

'Oui!  c'est  uu  reve—" 


22  IN  THE  QUARTER 

She  never  moved,  but  her  voice  swelled  out 
fresh  and  clear  in  answer  to  his,  and  a  really 
charming  duet  came  to  a  delightful  finish.  Then 
she  looked  up.  Gethryn  was  reckless  now. 

"Shall  it  be,  then,  only  a  dream?"  he  laughed. 
Was  it  his  fate  that  made  him  lean  out,  and 
whisper,  "Is  it,  then,  only  a  dream,  Helene?" 

There  was  nothing  but  the  rustling  of  the 
chestnut  branches  to  answer  his  folly.  Not  an 
other  sound.  He  was  half  inclined  to  shut  his 
window  and  go  in,  well  satisfied  with  the  si 
lence,  and  beginning  to  feel  sleepy.  All  at  once 
from  below  came  a  faint  laugh,  and  as  he  leaned 
out  he  caught  the  words: 

"Paris,  Helen  bids  you  good-night!" 

"Ah,  Belle  Helene!" — he  began,  but  was  cut 
short  by  the  violent  opening  of  a  window  oppo 
site. 

"Bon  dieu  de  bon  dieu!!!"  howled  an  injured 
gentleman.  "To  sleep  is  impossible,  tas  d'  im 
beciles!—" 

And  Helena's  window  closed  with  a  snap. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  day  broke  hot  and  stifling.  The  first  sun 
beams  which  chased  the  fog  from  bridge  and 
street,  also  drove  the  mists  from  the  cool  thick 
ets  of  the  Luxembourg  Garden,  and  revealed 
groups  of  dragoons  picketed  in  the  shrubbery. 

"Dragoons  in  the  Luxembourg!"  cried  the 
gamins  to  each  other.  "What  for?" 

But  even  the  gamins  did  not  know, — yet. 

At  the  great  Ateliers  of  Messieurs  Bouguereau 
and  Lefebvre  the  first  day  of  the  week  is  the 
busiest, — and  so,  this  being  Monday,  the  studios 
were  crowded. 

The  heat  was  suffocating.  The  walls  smeared 
with  the  refuse  of  a  hundred  palettes,  fairly  siz 
zled  as  they  gave  off  a  sickly  odor  of  paint  and 
turpentine.  Only  two  poses  had  been  com 
pleted,  but  the  tired  models  stood  or  sat,  glis 
tening  with  perspiration.  The  men  drew  and 
painted,  many  of  them  stripped  to  the  waist, 

33 


24  IN  THE  QUARTER 

The  air  was  heavy  with  tobacco  smoke,  and  the 
respiration  of  some  two  hundred  students  of 
half  as  many  nationalities. 

"Dieu!  quel  chaleur!"  gasped  a  fat  little 
Frenchman,  mopping  his  clipped  head  and 
breathing  hard. 

"Clifford,"  he  inquired  in  English,  "ees  eet 
zat  you  haf  a  so  great — a—  heat  chez  vous?" 

Clifford  glanced  up  from  his  easel.  "Heat  in 
New  York?  My  dear  Deschamps,  this  is  noth 
ing." 

The  other  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"You  know  New  York  is  the  capital  of  Gal- 
veston?"  said  Clifford,  slapping  on  a  brush  full 
of  color  and  leaning  back  to  look  at  it. 

The  Frenchman  didn't  know,  but  he  nodded, 

"Well,    that's  very   far  south.      We  suffer,— 
yes,    we    suffer,    but   our    poor    poultry    suffer 
more." 

"Ze — ze  pooltree?     Wat  eez  zat?" 

Clifford  explained. 

"In  summer  the  fire-engines  are  detailed  to 
throw  water  on  the  hens  to  keep  their  feathers 
from  singeing.  Singeing  spoils  the  flavor." 

The  Frenchman 


IN  THE  QUARTER  25 

"One  of  our  national  institutions  is  the 
'Hen's  Mutual  Fire  Insurance  Company,'  sup 
ported  by  the  Government,"  added  Clifford. 

Deschamps  snorted. 

"That  is  why,"  put  in  Rhodes,  lazily  dabbing 
at  his  canvas,  "why  we  seldom  have  omelets, 
— the  eggs  are  so  apt  to  be  laid  fried." 

"How,  zen,  does  eet  make  ze  chicken?"  splut 
tered  the  Frenchman,  his  wrath  rising. 

"Our  chickens  are  also — -"  a  torrent  of  bad 
language  from  Monsieur  Deschamps,  and  a 
howl  of  execration  from  all  the  rest,  silenced 
Clifford. 

"It's  too  hot  for  that  sort  of  thing,"  pleaded 
Elliott. 

"Idiot!"  muttered  the  Frenchman,  shooting 
ominous  glances  at  the  bland  youth,  who  saw 
nothing. 

"C'est  1'heure,"  cried  a  dozen  voices,  and  the 
tired  model  stretched  his  cramped  limbs.  Clifford 
rose,  dropped  a  piece  of  charcoal  down  on  his 
neighbor's  neck,  and  stepping  across  Thaxton's 
easel,  walked  over  to  Gethryn. 

"Rex,  have  you  heard  the  latest?" 

"No." 


26  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"The  Ministry  has  fallen  again,  and  the  Place 

'de  la  Concorde  is  rilled  with  people  yelling,  (A 

bas  laRepublique!   Vive  le  General  Boulanger!" 

Gethryn  looked  serious.  Clifford  went  on, 
speaking  low. 

"I  saw  a  troop  of  cavalry  going  over  this 
morning,  and  old  Forain  told  me  just  now  that 
the  regiments  at  Versailles  were  ready  to  move 
at  a  minute's  notice." 

"I  suppose  things  are  lively  across  the  river," 
said  Gethryn. 

"Exactly,  and  we're  all  going  over  to  see  the 
fun.  You'll  come?" 

"Oh,  I'll  come.  Hello!  here's  Rhodes;  tell 
him." 

Rhodes  knew.  Ministry  fallen.  Mob  at  it 
some  more.  Been  fired  on  by  the  soldiers  once. 
Pont  Neuf  and  the  Arc  guarded  by  cannon. 
Carleton  came  hurrying  up. 

"The  French  students  are  loose  and  raising 
Cain.  We're  going  to  assist  at  the  show.  Come 
along." 

"No,"  growled  Braith,  and  looked  hard  at 
Rex. 

"Qh,   come    along!     We're    all   going,"  said 


IN  THE  QUARTER  27 

Carleton,  "Elliott,  Gethryn,  the  Colossus,  Thax- 
ton,  Clifford." 

Braith  turned  sharply  to  Rex.  "Yes,  going 
to  get  your  heads  smashed  by  a  bullet,  or  carved 
by  a  saber.  What  for?  What  business  is  it 
of  yours?" 

"Braith  thinks  he  looks  like  a  Prussian,  and 
is  afraid,"  mused  Clifford. 

"Come  on,  won't  you,  Braith?"  said  Gethryn. 

"Are  you  going?" 

"Why  not?"  said  the  other,  uneasily,  "and 
why  won't  you?" 

"No  French  mob  for  me,"  answered  Braith, 
quietly.  "You  fellows  had  better  keep  away. 
You  don't  know  what  you  may  get  into.  I  saw 
the  siege,  and  the  man  who  was  in  Paris  in  '71 
has  seen  enough." 

"Oh,  this  is  nothing  serious,"  urged  Clifford. 
"If  they  fire  I  shall  leg  it;  so  will  the  lordly 
Reginald;  so  will  we  all." 

Braith  dug  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
velveteens,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I've  got  some  work  to  do. 
So  have  you,  Rex." 

"Come  on,  we're  off,"  shouted Thaxton  from 
the  stairway. 


28  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Clifford  seized  Gethryn's  arm,  Elliott  and 
Rhodes  crowded  on  behind.  A  small  earthquake^ 
shock  followed  as  the  crowd  of  students  launched 
itself  down  the.  stairs. 

"Braith  doesn't  approve  of  my  cutting  the 
atelier  so  often,"  said  Gethryn,"and  he's  right. 
I  ought  to  have  stayed." 

"Reggie  going  to  back  out?"  cooed  Clifford. 

"No,"  said  Rex.  "Here's  Rhodes  with  a 
cab." 

"It's  too  hot  to  walk,"  gasped  Rhodes.  "I 
secured  this.  It  was  all  I  could  get.  Pile  in." 

Rex  sprang  up  beside  the  driver. 

"Aliens!"  he  cried,  "to  the  Obelisk!" 

"But,  monsieur — "  expostulated  the  cabby, "it 
is  to-day  the  revolution.  I  dare  not." 

"Go  on,  I  tell  you, "roared  Rhodes.  "Clifford, 
take  his  reins  away  if  he  refuses." 

Clifford  made  a  snatch  at  them,  but  was  re 
pulsed  by  the  indignant  cabby. 

"Go  on,  do  you  hear?"  shouted-the  Colossus. 
The  cabman  looked  at  Gethryn. 

"Go  on!"  laughed  Rex,  "there  is  no  danger." 

Jehu  lifted  his  shoulders  to  the  level  of 
bis  shiny  hat,  and  giving  the  reins  a  jerk, 


•IN  THE  QUARTER  29 

muttered,     "Crazy     English!—  Heu— heu— Co- 
cotte!" 

In  twenty  minutes  they  had  arrived  at  the 
bridge  opposite  the  Palais  Bourbon. 

"By  Jove!"  said  Gethryn,  "look  at  that 
crowd!  The  Place  de  la  Concorde  is  black  with 
them!" 

The  cab  stopped  with  a  jolt.  Half  a  dozen 
policemen  stepped  into  the  street.  Two  seized 
the  horses'  heads. 

"The  bridge  is  forbidden  to  vehicles,  gentle 
men,"  they  said,  courteously.  "To  cross,  one 
must  descend." 

Clifford  began   to  argua,  but  Elliott  stopped 
him. 

"It's  only  a  step,"  said  he,  paying  the  relieved 
-cabby.  "Come  ahead!" 

In  a  moment  they  were  across  the  bridge,  and 
pushing  into  the  crowd,  single  file. 

"What  a  lot  of  troops  and  police!"  said  Elli 
ott,  panting  as  he  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
dense  masses.  "I  tell  you,  the  mob  are  bent  on 
mischief." 

The  Place  de  la  Concorde  was  packed  and 
jammed  with  struggling,  surging  humanity. 


30  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Pushed  and  crowded  up  to  the  second  fountain, 
clinging  in  bunches  to  the  Obelisk,  overrunning 
the  first  fountain,  and  covering  the  pedestals 
of  the  "Cities  of  France,"  it  heaved,  shifted, 
undulated,  like  clusters  of  swarming  ants. 

In  the  open  space  about  the  second  fountain 
was  the  Prefect  of  the  Seine,  surrounded  by  a 
staff  of  officers.  He  looked  worn  and  anxious, 
as  he  stood  mopping  the  perspiration  from  his 
neck,  and  glancing  nervously  at  his  men,  who 
were  slowly  and  gently  rolling  back  the  mob. 
On  the  bridge,  a  battalion  of  red-legged  sol 
diers  lounged,  leaning  on  their  rifles.  To  the 
right  were  long  lines  of  cavalry,  in  shining 
helmets  and  cuirasses.  The  men  sat  motionless 
in  their  saddles,  their  armor  striking  white  fire 
in  the  fierce  glow  of  the  midday  sun.  Ever  and 
anon  the  faint  flutter  of  a  distant  bugle  an 
nounced  the  approach  of  more  regiments. 

Among  the  shrubbery  of  the  Gardens,  a  glim 
mer  of  orange  and  blue  betrayed  the  lurking 
presence  of  the  Guards.  Down  the  endless 
vistas  of  the  double  and  quadruple  rows  of  trees 
stretching  out  to  the  Arc,  and  up  the  Cour  la 
Reine,  long  lines  of  scarlet  were  moving  toward 


IN  THE  QUARTER  31 

the  central  point,  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 
The  horses  of  a  squadron  of  hussars  pawed  and 
champed  across  the  avenue,  the  men,  in  their 
pale  blue  jackets,  presenting  a  cool  relief  to  the 
universal  glare.  The  Champs  Elysees  was  de 
serted,  excepting  by  troops.  Not  a  civilian  was 
to  be  seen  on  the  bridge.  In  front  of  the  Mad 
eleine  three  points  of  fire  blazed  and  winked  in 
the  sun.  They  were  three  cannon. 

Suddenly,  over  by  the  Obelisk,  began  a  hoarse 
murmur,  confused  and  dull  at  first,  but  growing 
louder,  until  it  swelled  into  a  deafening  roar. 
"Long  live  Boulanger!"  "Down  with  Ferry!" 
"Long  live  the  Republic!"  As  the  great  wave 
of  sound  rose  over  the  crowd,  and  broke  sul 
lenly  against  the  somber  masses  of  the  Palace 
of  the  Bourbons,  a  thin,  shrill  cry  from  the  ex 
treme  right  answered,  "Vive  la  Commune!" 
Elliott  laughed  nervously. 

"They'll  charge  those  howling  Belleville  an 
archists!" 

Clifford  began,  in  pure  deviltry,  to  whistle 
the  Carmagnole. 

"Do  you  want  to  get  us  all  into  hot  water?" 
whispered  Thaxton. 


32  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Monsieur  is  of  the  Commune?"  inquired  a 
little  man,  suavely. 

And,  the  devil    still    prompting    Clifford,    r 
answered:     "Because    I  whistled    the   Carmag 
nole?      Bah!" 

The  man  scowled. 

"Look  here,  my  friend,"  said  Clifford,  "my 
political  principles  are  yours,  and  I  will  be  hap 
py  to  drink  at  your  expense." 

The  other  Americans  exchanged  looks,  and 
Elliott  tried  to  check  Clifford's  folly  before  it 
was  too  late. 

"Espion!"  muttered  the  Frenchman,  adding, 
a  little  louder,  "Sale  Allemand!" 

Gethryn  looked  up  startled. 

"Keep  cool,"  whispered  Thaxton;  "if  they 
think  we  are  Germans  we're  done  for." 

Carleton  glanced  nervously  about.  "How 
they  stare, "he  whispered.  "Their  eyes  pop  out 
of  their  heads  as  if  they  saw  Bismarck." 

There  was  an  ominous  movement  among  the 
throng. 

"Vive  T  Anarchic!  A  bas  les  Prussiens!"  yelled 
a  beetle-browed  Italian.  A  bas  les  etran- 
gers!" 


IH  THE  QUARTER  33 

"My  friend," said  Clifford,  pleasantly,"you've 
;ot  a  very  vile  accent  yourself." 

"You're  a  Prussian!"  screamed  the  man., 

Every  one  was  now  looking  at  them.  Geth- 
*^gan  to  fume. 

'Til  thrash  that  cur  if  he  says  Prussian 
again,"  said  he. 

"You'll  keep  quiet,  that's  what  you'll  do," 
growled  Thaxton,  looking  anxiously  at  Rhodes. 

"Yes,  you  will!"  said  the  Colossus,  very  pale. 

"Pig  of  a  Prussian"  shouted  a  fearful-looking 
hag,  planting  herself  in  front  of  Clifford,  with 
arms  akimbo,  and  head  thrust  forward.  "Pig 
of  a  Prussian  spy!" 

She  glanced  at  her  supporters,  who  promptly 
applauded. 

"Ah — h — h,"  she  screamed,  her  little  green 
eyes  shining  like  a  tiger's — "Spy!  German  spy!" 

"Madam, "said  Clifford,  politely, "go  and  wash 
yourself." 

"Hold  your  cursed  tongue,  Clifford!"  whis 
pered  Thaxton.  "Do  you  want  to  be  torn  to 
pieces?" 

Suddenly  a  man  behind  Gethryn  sprang  at 
his  back,  and  then,  amazed  and  terrified  at  hb 


34  IN  THE  QUARTER 

own  daring,  yelled  lustily  for  help.  Gethryn 
shook  him  off  as  he  would  a  fly,  but  the  last 
remnant  of  self-control  went  at  the  same  time, 
and,  wheeling,  he  planted  a  blow  square  in  the 
fellow's  neck.  The  man  fell  like  an  ox.  In  an 
instant  the  mob  was  upon  them.  Thaxton  re 
ceived  a  heavy  kick  in  the  ribs,  which  sent  him- 
reeling  against  Carleton.  Clifford  knocked 
two  men  down  in  as  many  blows, and,  springing 
back,  stood  guard  over  Thaxton,  until  he  could 
struggle  to  his  feet  again.  Elliott  got  a  sound 
ing  thwack  on  the  nose,  which  he  neatly  re 
turned,  adding  one  on  the  eye  for  interest. 
Gethryn  and  Carleton  fought  back  to  back. 
Rhodes  began  by  half  strangling  a  son  of  the 
Commune  and  then  flung  him  bodily  among  his 
howling  compatriots. 

"Good  Heavens,"  gasped  Rhodes,  "we  can't 
keep  this  up!"  And  raising  his  voice,  he  cried 
with  all  the  force  of  his  lungs,  "Help!  This 
way,  police!"  A  shot  answered  him,  and 
a  man,  clapping  his  hands  to  his  face,  tilted 
heavily  forward,  the  blood  spurting  between  his 
fingers. 

Then  a  terrible  cry  arose,    a   din  in  which 


IN  THE  QUARTER  35 

the  Americans  caught  the  clanging  of  steel  and 
the  neighing  of  horses.  A  man  was  hurled  vio 
lently  against  Gethryn,  who,  losing  in  turn  his 
balance,  staggered  and  fell.  Rising  to  his  knees, 
he  saw  a  great  foam-covered  horse  rearing  al 
most  over  him,  and  a  red-faced  rider  in  steel 
helmet  and  tossing  plume,  slashing  furiously 
among  the  crowd.  Next  moment  he  was  dragged 
to  his  feet  and  back  into  the  flying  mob. 

"Look  out,"  panted  Thaxton,  "the  cavalry, 
— they've  charged —run!"  Gethryn  glanced  over 
his  shoulder.  All  along  the  edge  of  the  frantic, 
panic-stricken  crowd  the  gleaming  crests  of  the 
cavalry  surged  and  dashed  like  a  huge  wave  of 
steel. 

Cries,  groans,  and  curses  rose  and  were 
drowned  in  the  thunder  of  the  charging  horses 
and  the  clashing  of  weapons. 

"Spy!"  screamed  a  voice  in  his  ear.  Gethryn 
turned,  but  the  fellow  was  legging  it  for  safe 
ty. 

Suddenly  he  saw  a  woman  who,  pushed  and 
crowded  by  the  mob,  stumbled  and  fell.  In  a 
moment  he  was  by  her  side,  bent  over  to  raise 
her,  was  hurled  upon  his  face,  rose  blinded  by 


36  IN  THE  QUARTER 

dust  and  half-stunned,  but   dragging   her  to  her 
feet  with  him. 

Swept  onward  by  the  rush,  knocked  this  way 
and  that,  he  still  managed  to  support  the  dazed 
woman,  and  by  degrees  succeeded  in  controlling 
his  own  course,  which  he  bent  toward  the  Obe 
lisk.      As    he  neared   the   goal   of    comparative 
safety,  exhausted,  he   suffered   himself    and  the 
woman  to  be  carried  on  by  the  rush.      Then    a 
blinding  flash  split  the  air  in  front,  and  the  crash 
of  musketry  almost  in  his  face  hurled  him  back. 
Men  threw  up  their  hands  and  sank  in  a  heap 
or  spun    round  and   pitched    headlong.      For   a 
moment    he    swayed  in  the  drifting    smoke.      A 
blast  of  hot,  sickening  air  enveloped  him.    Then 
a  dull  red  cloud  seemed  to  settle  slowly,  crush 
ing,  grinding  him  into  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  Gethryn  unclosed  his  eyes,  the  dazzling 
sunlight  almost  blinded  him.  A  thousand  gro 
tesque  figures  danced  before  him,  a  hot  red  va 
por  seemed  to  envelop  him.  He  felt  a  dull  pain 
in  his  ears  and  a  numb  sensation  about  the  legs. 
Gradually  he  recalled  the  scene  that  had  just 
passed;  the  flying  crowd,  lashed  by  that  piti 
less  iron  scourge;  the  cruel  panic;  the  mad, 
suffocating  rush;  and  then  that  crash  of  thunder 
which  had  crushed  him. 

He  lay  quite  still,  not  offering  to  move.  A 
strange  languor  seemed  to  weigh  down  his  very 
heart.  The  air  reeked  with  powder  smoke.  Not 
a  breath  was  stirring. 

Presently  the  numbness  in  his  knees  changed 
to  a  hot,  pricking  throb.  He  tried  to  move  his 
legs,  but  found  he  could  not.  Then  a  sudden 
thought  sent  the  blood  with  a  rush  to  his  heart. 
Perhaps  he  no  longer  had  any  legs!  He  re^ 
rnembered  to  have  heard  of  legless  men  whose 

37 


38  IN  THE  QUARTER 

phantom  members  caused  them  many  uncom 
fortable  sensations.  He  certainly  had  a  dull 
pain  where  his  legs  belonged,  but  the  question 
was,  had  he  legs  also?  The  doubt  was  too 
much,  and  with  a  faint  cry  he  struggled  to 
rise. 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  a  voice  close  to  his 
head,  and  a  pair  of  startled  eyes  met  his  own. 
"  The  devil!"  repeated  the  owner  of  the  eyes, 
as  if  to  apostrophize  some  particular  one.  He 
was  a  bird-like  little  fellow,  with  thin  canary- 
colored  hair  and  eyebrows  and  colorless  eyes, 
and  he  was  seated  upon  a  camp-stool  about  two 
feet  from  Gethryn's  head. 

He  blinked  at  Gethryn.  "These  Frenchmen," 
said  he,  "have  as  many  lives  as  a  cat." 

"Thanks!"  said  Gethryn,    smiling  faintly. 

"An  Englishman!  The  devil!"  shouted  the 
pale-eyed  man,  hopping  in  haste  from  his  camp- 
stool  and  dropping  a  well-thumbed  sketching- 
block  as  he  did  so. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  suggested  Gethryn;  "you'd 
much  better  help  me  to  get  up." 

"Look  here,"  cried  the  other,  "how  was  I  to 
know  you  were  not  done  for?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  39 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  said  Gethryn* 
"Are  my — my  legs  gone?" 

The  little  man  glanced  at  Gethryn's  shoes. 

"No,  they're  all  there,  unless  you  originally 
had  more  than  the  normal  number, — in  fact  I'm 
afraid — I  think  you're  all  right." 

Gethryn  stared  at  him. 

"And  what  the  devil  am  I  to  do  with  this 
sketch?"  he  continued,  kicking  the  fallen  block. 
"I've  been  at  it  for  an  hour.  It  isn't  half  bad, 
you  know.  I  was  going  to  call  it  'Love  in 
Death.'  It  was  for  the  'London  Illustrated 
Mirror.'" 

Gethryn  lay  quite  still.  He  had  decided  the 
little  fellow  was  mad. 

"Dead  in  each  other's  arms!"  continued  the 
stranger,  sentimentally.  "She  so  fair, — he  so 
brave — " 

Gethryn  sprang  up  impatiently,  but  only  a 
little  way.  Something  held  him  down,  and  he 
fell  back. 

"Do  you  want  to  get  up?"  asked  the  stranger. 

"I  should  rather  think  so." 

The  other  bent  down  and  placed  his  hands 
under  Gethryn's  arms,  and  half  helped,  half 


40  IN  THE  QUARTER 

by  his  own  impatient  efforts,  Rex  sat  up,  lean 
ing  against  the  other  man.  A  sharp  twinge  shot 
through  the  numbness  of  his  legs,  and  his  eyes, 
seeking  the  cause,  fell  upon  the  body  of  a 
woman.  She  lay  across  his  knees,  apparently 
dead.  Rex  remembered  her  now  for  the  first 
time. 

"Lift  her,"  he  said  weakly. 

The  little  man  with  some  difficulty  succeeded 
in  moving  the  body;  then  Gethryn,  putting  one 
arm  around  the  other's  neck,  struggled  up.  He 
was  stiff,  and  toppled  about  a  little,  but  before 
long  he  was  pretty  steady  on  his  feet. 

"The  woman,"  he  said,  "perhaps  she  is  not 
dead." 

"Dead  she  is,"  said  the  Artist  of  the  "Mirror," 
cheerfully,  gathering  up  his  pencils,  which  lay 
scattered  on  the  steps  of  the  pedestal.  He 
leaned  over  the  little  heap  of  crumpled  clothing. 

"Shot,  I  fancy,"  he  muttered. 

Gethryn,  feeling  his  strength  returning,  and 
the  circulation  restored  to  his  limbs,  went  over 
to  the  place  where  she  lay. 

"Have  you  a  flask?"  he  asked.  The  little 
Artist  eyed  him  suspiciously. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  41 

"Are  you  a  newspaper  man?" 

"No,  an  art  student." 

"Nothing  to  do  with  newspapers?" 

"No." 

"I  don't  drink,"  said  the  queer  little   person. 

"I  never  said  you  did,"  said  Gethryn.  "Have 
you  a  flask,  or  haven't  you?" 

The  stranger  slowly  produced  one,  and  poured 
a  few  drops  into  his  pink  palm. 

"We  may  as  well  try,"  he  said,  and  began  to 
chafe  her  forehead.  "Here,  take  the  whisky, — 
let  it  trickle,  so,  between  her  teeth.  Don't 
spill  any  nure  than  you  can  help."  he  added. 

"Has  she  been  shot?"  asked  Gethryn. 

"Crushed,   maybe." 

"Poor  little  thing,  look  at  her  roll  of  music!" 
said  Gethryn,  wiping  a  few  drops  of  blood  from 
her  pallid  face,  and  glancing  compassionately 
at  the  helpless,  dust-covered  figure. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  no  use— 

"Give  her  some  more  whisky,  quick!"  inter 
rupted  the  stranger. 

Gethryn  tremblingly  poured  a  few  more 
drops  between  the  parted  lips.  A  faint  color 
came  into  her  temples.  She  moved,  shivered 


42  IN  THE  QUARTER 

from  head  to  foot,  and  then,  with  a  half-choked 
sob,  opened  her  eyes. 

"Mon  Dieu,  comme  je  souffre!" 

"Where  do  you  suffer?"  said  Gethryn   gently. 

"The  arm;    I  think  it  is  broken." 

Gethryn  stood  up  and  looked  about  for  help. 
The  Place  was  nearly  deserted.  The  blue-jack 
eted  hussars  were  still  standing  over  by  the 
Avenue,  and  an  occasional  heavy,  red-faced 
cuirassier  walked  his  sweating  horse  slowly  up 
and  down  the  square.  A  few  policemen  lounged 
against  the  river  wall,  chatting  with  the  sen 
tries,  and  far  down  the  dusty  Rue  Royale,  the 
cannon  winked  and  blinked  before  the  Church 
of  the  Madeleine. 

The  rumble  of  wheels  caused  him  to  turn.  A 
clumsy,  blue-covered  wagon  drew  up  at  the 
second  fountain.  It  was  a  military  ambulance. 
A  red-capped  trooper  sprang  down  jingling  from 
one  of  the  horses,  and  was  joined  by  two  others 
who  had  followed  the  ambulance  and  who  also 
dismounted.  Then  the  three  approached  a 
group  of  policemen  who  were  lifting  something 
from  the  pavement.  At  the  same  moment  he 
heard  voices  beside  him,  and  turning,  found 


IN  THE  QUARTER  43 

that  the  girl  had  risen  and  was  sitting  on  the 
camp-stool,  her  head  leaning  against  the  little 
stranger's  shoulder. 

An  officer  stood  looking  down  at  her.  His 
boots  were  spotless.  The  band  of  purple  on 
his  red  and  gold  cap  showed  that  he  was  a  sur 
geon. 

"Can  we  be  of  any  assistance  to  madame?" 
he  inquired. 

"I  was  looking  for  a  cab, "said  Gethryn,  "but 
perhaps  she  is  not  strong  enough  to  be  taken 
to  her  home." 

A  frightened  look  came  into  the  girl's  face 
and  she  glanced  anxiously  at  the  ambulance. 
The  surgeon  knelt  quietly  beside  her. 

"Madame  is  not  seriously  hurt,"  he  said,  after 
a  rapid  examination,  "The  right  arm  is  a  little 
strained,  but  it  will  be  nothing,  I  assure  you, 
Madame;  a  matter  of  a  few  days,  that  is  all." 

He  rose  and  stood  brushing  the  knees  of  his 
trousers  with  his  handkerchief.  "Monsieur  is  a 
foreigner?" 

Gethryn  smiled,  "The  accent?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  assure  you,  Monsieur," 
cried  the  officer  with  more  politeness  than  truth. 


44  IN  THE  QUARTER 

He  eyed  the  ambulance.      "The  people  of  Paris 
have  learned  a  lesson  to-day,"  he  said. 

A  trooper  clattered  up,  leading  an  officer's 
horse,  and  dismounted,  saluting.  The  young 
surgeon  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"Picard,"  he  said,  "stop  a  closed  cab  and 
send  it  here." 

The  trooper  wheeled  his  horse  and  galloped 
away  across  the  square,  and  the  officer  turned 
to  the  others. 

"Madame,  I  trust,  will  soon  recover,"  he 
said  courteously.  "Madame,  messieurs,  I  have 
the  honor  to  salute  you."  And  with  many  a 
clink  and  jingle,  he  sprang  into  the  saddle  and 
clattered  away  in  the  wake  of  the  slowly  mov 
ing  ambulance. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Royale,  Gethryn 
saw  the  trooper  stop  a  cab  and  point  to  the 
Obelisk.  He  went  over  and  asked  the  canary- 
colored  stranger,  "Will  you  take  her  home,  or 
shall  I?" 

"Why,  you,  of  course;  you  brought  her  here." 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  never  saw  her  until  I  noticed 
her  being  pushed  about  by  the  crowd."  He 
caught  the  girl's  eye,  and  colored  furiously, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  45 

hoping  she  did  not  suspect  the  nature  of  their 
discussion.  Before  her  helplessness,  it  seemed 
so  brutal. 

The  cab  drew  up  before  the  Obelisk  and  a 
gruff  voice  cried,  "Via!  M'ssieurs! — 'dames!" 

"Put  your  arm  on  my  shoulder — so,"  said 
Gethryn,  and  the  two  men  raised  her  gently. 
Once  in  the  cab,  she  sank  back,  looking  limp 
and  white.  Gethryn  turned  sharply  to  the 
other  man. 

"Shall  I  go?" 

"Rather,"  replied  the  little  stranger,  pleas 
antly. 

Opening  his  coat  in  haste,  he  produced  a 
square  of  pasteboard.  "My  card,"  he  said, 
offering  one  to  Gethryn,  who  bowed  and  fumbled 
in  his  pockets.  As  usual,  his  card -case  was  in 
another  coat. 

"I'm  sorry  I  have  none,"  he  said  at  length, 
"but  my  name  is  Reginald  Gethryn,  and  I  shall 
give  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  to  thank 
you  for — " 

"For  nothing,"  laughed  the  other,  "excepting 
for  the  sketch,  which  you  may  have  when  you 
come  to  see  me." 


40  IN  THE  (BARTER 

"Thanks,  and  au  revoir, "glancing  at  the  card. 
"Au  revoir,  Mr.  Bulfinch." 

He  was  giving  the  signal  to  the  cabby,  when 
his  new  acquaintance  stopped  him. 

"You're  quite  sure — you — er — don't  know 
any  newspaper  men?" 

"Quite." 

"All  right — all  right — and — er — just  don't 
mention  about  my  having  a  flask,  if  you  do  meet 
any  of  them.  I — er — keep  it  for  others.  I  don't 
drink." 

"Certainly  not,"  began  Gethryn,  but  Mr.  T. 
Hoppley  Bulfinch  had  seized  his  camp-stool  and 
trotted  away  across  the  square. 

Gethryn  leaned  into  the  cab. 

"Will  you  give  me  your  address?"  he  asked 
gently. 

"Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince— 430— "  she  whis 
pered.  "Do  you  know  where  it  is?" 

"Yes,"  said  Gethryn.  It  was  his  own  num 
ber. 

"Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince  430,"  he  repeated  to 
the  driver,  and  stepping  in,  softly  shut  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Rain  was  falling  steadily.  The  sparrows  hud 
dled  under  the  eaves,  or  hopped  disconsolately 
along  the  window-sills,  uttering  short,  ill-tem 
pered  chirps.  The  wind  was  rising,  blowing  in 
quick,  sharp  gusts  and  sweeping  the  forest  of 
rain  spears,  rank  upon  rank,  in  mad  dashes 
against  the  glass-roofed  studio. 

Gethryn,  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  his  sofa,  list 
lessly  watched  the  showers  of  pink  and  white 
blossoms,  which  whirled  and  eddied  down  from 
the  rocking  chestnuts,  falling  into  the  windy 
court  in  little  heaps.  One  or  two  stiff-legged 
flies  crawled  rheumatically  along  the  window 
glass,  only  to  fall  on  their  backs  and  lie  there 
buzzing. 

The  two  bull  pups  had  silently  watched  the 
antics  of  these  maudlin  creatures,  but  their  in 
terest  changed  to  indignation  when  one  sodden 
insect  attempted  a  final  ascent,  and  fell  noisily 
upon  the  floor  under  their  very  noses.  Then 

47 


48  IN  TH£  QUARTER 

they  rose  as  one  dog,  and  leaped  madly  upon 
the  intruder,  or  meant  to;  but  being  pups,  and 
uncertain  in  their  estimation  of  distances,  they 
brought  up  with  startled  yelps  against  the  wall. 
Gethryn  took  them  in  his  arms,  where 
they  found  consolation  in  chewing  the  buttons 
off  his  coat.  The  parrot  had  driven  the  raven 
nearly  crazy  by  turning  upside  down  and  staring 
at  him  for  fifteen  minutes  of  insulting  silence. 
Mrs.  Gummidge  was  engaged  in  a  matronly  and 
sedate  toilet,  interrupting  herself  now  and  then 
to  bestow  a  critical  glance  upon  the  parrot. 
She  heartily  approved  of  his  attitude  toward  the 
raven,  and  although  the  old  cynic  cared  nothing 
for  Mrs.  Gummidge's  opinion,  he  found  a  sou 
satisfaction  in  warning  her  of  her  enemy's  hos 
tile  intentions.  This  he  always  did  with  a  croak, 
causing  Mrs.  Gummidge  to  look  up  just  in  time, 
and  the  raven  to  hop  back  disconcerted. 

The  rain  beat  a  constant  tattoo  on  the  roof, 
and  this,  mingling  with  the  drowsy  purr  of  the 
cat,  who  was  now  marching  to  and  fro  with  tail 
erect,  in  front  of  Gethryn,  exercised  a  soothing 
influence,  and  presently  a  snore  so  shocked  the 
parrot,  that  he  felt  obliged  to  relieve  his  mind 


IN  THE  QUARTER  49 

by   a  series    of    intricate  gymnastics    upon   his 
perch. 

Gethryn  was  roused  by  a  violent  hammering 
on  his  door.  The  room  had  grown  dark,  and 
night  had  come  on  while  he  slept. 

"All  right — coming,"  he  shouted,  groping  his 
way  across  the  room.  Slipping  the  bolt,  he 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out,  but  could  see 
nothing  in  the  dark  hallway.  Then  he  felt  him 
self  seized  and  hugged,  and  dragged  back  into 
his  studio,  where  he  was  treated  to  a  heavy  slap 
on  the  shoulder.  Then  some  one  struck  a  match 
and  presently,  by  the  light  of  a  candle,  he  saw 
Clifford  and  Elliott,  and  farther  back  in  the 
shade  another  form  which  he  thought  he 
knew. 

Clifford  began,  "Here  you  are!  We  thought 
you  were  dead, — killed  through  my  infernal  fool 
ing."  He  turned  very  red,  and  stammered, 
"Tell  him,  Elliott." 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  Elliott  "we've  been 
hunting  for  you  high  and  low  since  the  fight 
yesterday  afternoon.  Clifford  was  nearly  crazy. 
He  said  it  was  his  fault.  We  went  to  the 
Morgue  and  then  to  the  hospitals,  and  finally 


50  IN  THE  QUARTER 

to  the  police — "  A  knock  interrupted  him,  and 
a  policeman  appeared  at  the  door. 

Clifford  looked  sheepish. 

"The  young  gentleman  who  is  missing,  —  this 
is  his  room?"  inquired  the  policeman. 

"Oh,  he's  found— he's  all  right,"  said  Clifford, 
hurriedly.  The  officer  stared. 

"Here  he  is,"  said  Elliott,  pointing  to  Rex. 

The  man  transferred  his  stare  to  Gethryn,  but 
did  not  offer  to  move. 

"I  am  the  supposed  deceased,"  laughed  Rex, 
with  a  little  bow. 

"But  how  am  I  to  know?"  said  the  officer. 

"Why,  here  I  am." 

"But,"  said  the  man,  suspiciously,  "I  want  to 
know  how  I  am  to  know?" 

"Nonsense,"  said  Elliott,  laughing. 

"But,  Monsieur,"  expostulated  the  officer, 
politely. 

"This  is  Reginald  Gethryn,  artist,  I  tell  you!" 

The  policeman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He 
was  noncommittal  and  very  polite. 

"Messieurs,"  he  said,  "my  orders  are  to  lock 
up  this  room." 

"But  it's  my  room,  I  can't   spare  my  room," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  57 

laughed  Gethryn.  "From  whom  did  you  take 
your  orders?" 

"From  Monsieur,  the  Prefect  of  the  Seine." 

"Oh,  it  is  all  right,  then,"  said  Gethryn. 
"Take  a  seat." 

He  went  to  his  desk,  wrote  a  hasty  note,  and 
then  called  the  man.  "Read  that,  if  you  please, 
Monsieur  Sergeant  de  Ville." 

The  man's  eyes  grew  round.  "Certainly, 
Monsieur,  I  will  take  the  note  to  the  Prefect," 
he  said;  "Monsieur  will  pardon  the  intrusion.." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  Rex,  smiling,  and 
slipped  a  franc  into  his  big  red  fist.  The  officer 
pocketed  it  with  a  demure  "Merci,  Monsieur," 
and  presently  the  clank  of  his  bayonet  died 
away  on  the  stairs. 

"Well,"  said  Elliott,  "you're  found."  Clifford 
was  beginning  again  with  self-reproaches  and 
self-abasement,  but  Rex  broke  in:  "You  fel 
lows  are  awfully  good — I  do  assure  you  I  ap 
preciate  it.  But  I  wasn't  in  any  more  danger 
than  the  rest  of  you.  What  about  Thaxton  and 
the  Colossus  and  Carleton?"  He  grew  anxious 
as  he  named  them. 

"We  all  got  oft  with  no    trouble  at   all,  only 


52  IN  THE  QUARTER 

we  missed  you, — and  then  the  troops  fired,  and 
they  chased  us  over  the  bridge  and  scattered  us 
in  the  Quarter,  and  we  all  drifted  one  by  one 
into  the  Cafe  des  Ecoles.  And  then  you  didn't 
come, and  we  waited  till  after  dinner,  and  finally 
came  here  to  find  your  door  locked — " 

"Oh!"  burst  out  Clifford,  "I  tell  you,  Rex- 
damn  it!  I  will  express  my  feelings!" 

"No,  you  won't,"  said  Rex;  "drop  'em,  old 
boy,  don't  express  'em.  Here  we  are, — that's 
enough,  isn't  it,  Shakespeare?" 

The  bird  had  climbed  to  Gethryn's  shoulder 
and  was  cocking  his  eye  fondly  at  Clifford.  They 
were  dear  friends.  Once  he  had  walked  up  Clif 
ford's  arm  and  had  grabbed  him  by  the  ear,  for 
which  Clifford,  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger, 
soaked  him  in  cold  water.  Since  that,  their 
mutual  understanding  had  been  perfect. 

"Where  are  you  going  to,  you  old  fiend?" 
said  Clifford,  tickling  the  parrot's  throat. 

"Hell!"  shrieked  the  bird. 

"Good  Heavens!  I  never  taught  him  that," 
said  Gethryn. 

Clifford  smiled,  without    committing  himself. 

"But  where  were  you,    Rex?"    asked    Elliott. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  53 

Rex  flushed.  "Hullo,"  cried  Clifford,  "here's 
Reginald  blushing.  If  I  didn't  know  him  bet 
ter,  I'd  swear  there's  a  woman  in  it."  The  dark 
figure  at  the  end  of  the  room  rose  and  walked 
swiftly  over,  and  Rex  saw  that  it  was  Braith, 
as  he  had  supposed. 

"I  swear  I  forgot  him,"  laughed  Elliott. 
"What  a  queer  bird  you  are,  Braith,  squatting 
over  there  as  silent  as  a  stuffed  owl!" 

"He  has  been  walking  his  legs  off  after  you," 
began  Clifford,  but  Braith  cut  him  short  with 
a  brusque  — 

"Where  were  you,  Rex?" 

Gethryn  winced.  "I'd  rather— I  think"— he 
began,  slowly — 

"Excuse  me— it's  not  my  business,"  growled 
Braith,  throwing  himself  into  a  seat  and  begin 
ning  to  rub  Mrs.  Gummidge  the  wrong  way. 
"Confound  the  cat!"  he  added,  examining  some 
red  parallel  lines  which  suddenly  decorated  the 
back  of  his  hand. 

"She  won't  stand  rubbing  the  wrong  way," 
said  Rex,  smiling  uneasily. 

"Like  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Elliott. 

"More  fool  he  who  tries  it,"  said  Braith,  and 


54  IN  THE  QUARTER 

looked  at  Gethryn   with   an   affectionate    smile 
that  made  him  turn  redder  than  before. 

"Rex,"  began  Clifford  again,  with  that  fine 
tact  for  which  he  was  celebrated,  "own  up!  You 
spent  last  night  warbling  under  the  windows  of 
Lisette." 

"Or     Frisette,"  said     Elliott,  "or     Cosette." 

"Or  Babette,  Lisette,  Frisetle,  Cosette,  Bab- 
ette!"  chanted  the  two  young  men  in  a  sort  of 
catch. 

Braith  so  seldom  swore,  that  the  round  oath 
tvith  which  he  broke  into  their  vocal  exercises 
stopped  them  through  sheer  astonishment.  But 
Clifford  determined  on  self-assertion,  and  loving 
an  argument,  especially  out  of  season,  turned 
on  Braith  and  began: 

"Why  should  not  Youth  love?" 

"Love!      Bah!"  said  Braith. 

"Why  Bah?"  he  persisted,  stimulated  by  the 
disgust  of  Braith.  "Now  if  a  man — take  Elliott, 
for  example — " 

"Take  yourself,"  cried  the  other. 

"Well — myself,  for  example.  Suppose  when 
my  hours  of  weary  toil  are  over, — returning  to 
my  lonely  cell,  I  encounter  the  blue  eyes  of  Nin- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  55 

ette  on  the  way,  or  the  brown  eyes  of  Cosette, 
or  perhaps  the  black  eyes  of — " 

Braith  stamped  impatiently. 

"Lisette,"  said  Clifford,  sweetly.  "Why 
should  I  not  refresh  my  drooping  spirits  by  ador 
ing  Lisette, — Cos — " 

"Oh,  come,  you  said  that  before,"  said  Geth- 
ryn.  "You're  getting  to  be  a  bore,  Clif 
ford." 

"You  at  least  can  no  longer  reproach  me," 
said  the  other,  with  a  quick  look  that  increased 
Gethryn's  embarrassment. 

"Let  him  talk  his  talk  of  bewitching  grisettes, 
and  gay  students,"  said  Braith,  more  angry  than 
Rex  had  ever  seen  him.  "He's  never  content 
except  when  he's  dangling  after  some  fool  worse 
than  himself.  Damn  this  'Bohemian  love'  rot! 
I've  been  here  longer  than  you  have, Clifford,"  he 
said,  suddenly  softening  and  turning  half  apolo 
getically  to  the  latter,  who  nodded  to  intimate 
that  he  hadn't  taken  offense.  "I've  seen  all 
that  shabby  romance  turn  into  such  reality  as 
you  wouldn't  like  to  f  ice.  I've  seen  promising 
lives  go  out  in  ruin  and  disgrace, — here  in  this 
very  street,  —  in  this  very  house,  —  lives  that 


56  IN  THE  QUARTER 

started  exactly  on  the  lines  that  you  are  finding 
so  mighty  pleasant  just  now." 

Clifford  was  in  danger  of  being  silenced.  That 
would  never  do. 

"Papa  Braith,"  he  smiled,  "is  it  that  you  too 
have  been  through  the  mill?  Shall  I  present 
your  compliments  to  the  miller?  I'm  going. 
Come  Elliott." 

Elliott  took  up  his  hat  and  followed. 

"Braith,"  he  said,  "we'll  drink  your  health 
as  we  go  through  the  mill." 

"Remember  that  the  mill  grinds  slowly  but 
surely,"  said  Braith. 

"He  speaks  in  parables,"  laughed  Clifford, 
half  way  down-stairs,  and  the  two  took  up  the 
catch  they  had  improvised,  singing,  "Lisette — 
Cosette — Ninette— "in  thirds  more  or  less  out  of 
tune,  until  Gethryn  shut  the  door  on  the  last 
echoes  that  came  up  from  the  hall  below. 

Gethryn  came  back  and  sat  down,  and  Braith 
took  a  seat  beside  him,  but  neither  spoke.  Braith 
had  his  pipe  and  Rex  his  cigarette. 

When  the  former  was  ready,  he  began  to 
speak.  He  could  not  conceal  the  effort  it  cost 
him,  but  that  wore  away  after  he  had  been  talk 
ing  awhile. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  57 

"Rex,"  he  began,  "when  I  say  that  we  are 
friends,  I  mean,  for  my  own  part,  that  you  are 
more  to  me  than  any  man  alive;  and  now  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  my  story.  Don't  interrupt  me. 
I  have  only  just  courage  enough;  if  any  of  it 
oozes  out,  I  may  not  be  able  to  go  on.  Well, 
I  have  been  through  the  mill.  Clifford  was  right. 
They  say  it  is  a  phase  through  which  all  men 
must  pass.  I  say,  must  or  not,  if  you  pass 
through  it,  you  don't  come  out  without  a  stain. 
You're  never  the  same  man  after.  Don't  imag 
ine  I  mean  that  I  was  brutally  dissolute.  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  worse  of  me  than  I  deserve. 
I  kept  a  clean  tongue  in  my  head,— always.  So 
do  you.  I  never  got  drunk, — neither  do  you. 
I  kept  a  distance  between  myself  and  the  women 
whom  those  fellows  were  celebrating  in  song 
just  now, — so  do  you.  How  much  is  due  in 
both  of  us  to  principle,  and  how  much  to  fastid 
iousness,  Rex?  I  found  out  for  myself  at  last, 
and  perhaps  your  turn  will  not  be  long  in  com 
ing.  After  avoiding  entanglements  for  just  three 
years — •"  He  looked  at  Rex,  who  dropped  his 
head — "I  gave  in  to  a  temptation  as  coarse,  vul 
gar  and  silly  as  any  I  had  ever  despised.  Why? 


58  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Heaven  knows.  She  was  as  vulgar  a  leech  as 
ever  fastened  on  a  calf  like  myself.  But  I  didn't 
think  so  then.  I  was  wildly  in  love  with  her. 
She  said  she  was  madly  in  love  with  me."  Braith 
made  a  grimace  of  such  disgust  that  Rex  would 
have  laughed,  only  he  saw  in  time  that  it  was 
self-disgust  which  made  Braith's  mouth  look  so 
set  and  hard. 

"I  wanted  to  marry  her.  She  wouldn't  marry 
me.  I  was  not  rich,  but  what  she  said  was: 
'One  hates  one's  husband.'  When  I  say  vulgar, 
I  don't  mean  she  had  vulgar  manners.  She 
was  as  pretty  and  trim  and  clever — as  the  rest 
of  them.  An  artist,  if  he  sees  all  that  really 
exists,  sometimes  also  sees  things  which  have 
no  existence  at  all.  Of  these  were  the  qualities 
with  which  I  invested  her, — the  moral  and  men 
tal  correspondencies  to  her  blonde  skin  and 
supple  figure.  She  justified  my  perspicacity  one 
day,  by  leaving  me  for  a  loathsome  little  Jew. 
The  last  time  I  heard  of  her  she  had  been  turned 
out  of  a  gambling  hell  in  his  company.  His 
name  is  Emanuel  Pick.  Is  not  this  a  shabby 
romance?  Is  it  not  enough  to  make  a  self-re 
specting  man  hang  his  hea4 — to  know  that  he 


IN  THE  QUARTER  59 

has  once  found  pleasure  in  the  society  of  the 
mistress  of  Mr.  Emanuel  Pick?" 

A  long  silence  followed,  during  which  the  two 
men  smoked,  looking  in  opposite  directions.  At 
last  Braith  reached  over  and  shook  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe.  Rex  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette 
at  the  same  time,  and  their  eyes  met  with  a  look 
of  mutual  confidence  and  good-will.  Braith 
spoke  again,  firmly  this  time. 

"God  keep  you  out  of  the  mire,  Rex;  you're 
all  right  thus  far.  But  it  is  my  solemn  belief 
that  an  affair  of  that  kind  would  be  your  ruin 
as  an  artist;  as  a  man." 

"The  Quarter  doesn't  regard  things  in  that 
light,"  said  Gethryn,  trying  hard  to  laugh  off 
the  weight  that  oppressed  him. 

"The  Quarter  is  a  law  unto  itself.  Be  a  law 
unto  yourself,  Rex. — Good-night,  old  chap." 

"Good-night,  Braith,"  said   Gethryn   slowly. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Thirion's  at  six  p.  M.  Madame  Thirion,  neat 
and  demure,  sat  behind  her  desk;  her  husband, 
in  white  linen  apron  and  cap,  scuttled  back  and 
forth  shouting,  '"Bon!  Bon!"  to  the  orders  that 
came  down  the  call  trumpet.  The  waiters  flew 
crazily  about,  and  cries  went  up  for  "Pierre" 
and  "Jean"  and  "green  pease  and  fillet." 

The  noise,  smoke,  laughter,  shouting,  rattle  of 
dishes,  the  penetrating  odor  of  burnt  paper  and 
French  tobacco,  all  proclaimed  the  place  a  Latin 
Quarter  restaurant.  The  English  and  Americans 
ate  like  civilized  beings  and  howled  like  bar 
barians.  The  Germans,  when  they  had  napkins, 
tucked  them  under  their  chins.  The  French 
men, — well!  they  often  agreed  with  the  hated 
Teuton  in  at  least  one  thing;  that  knives  were 
made  to  eat  with.  But  which  of  the  four  na 
tionalities  exceeded  the  others  in  turbulence  and 
bad  language,  would  be  hard  to  say. 

00 


IN  THE  QUARTER  61 

Clifford  was  eating  his  chop  and  staring  at  the 
blonde  adjunct  of  a  dapper  little  Frenchman. 

"Clifford,"  said  Carleton,  "stop  that." 

"I'm  mesmerizing  her,"  said  Clifford.  "It's 
a  case  of  hypnotism." 

The  girl,  who  had  been  staring  back  at  Clifford, 
suddenly  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  turning 
to  her  companion,  said  aloud: 

"How  like  a  monkey,  that  foreigner!" 

Clifford  withdrew  his  eyes  in  a  hurry,  amid 
a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  others.  He  was 
glad  when  Braith's  entrance  caused  a  diver 
sion. 

"Hullo,  Don  Juan!  I  see  you,  Lothario! 
Drinking  again}" 

Braith  took  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course,  but 
this  time  failed  to  return  as  good  as  they  gave. 
He  took  a  seat  beside  Gethryn  and  said  in  a 
low  tone: 

"I've  just  come  from  your  house.  There's  a 
letter  from  the  Salon  in  your  box." 

Gethryn  set  down  his  wine  untasted,  and 
reached  for  his  hat. 

"What's  the  matter,  Reggy?  Has  Lisette  gone 
back  on  you?"  asked  Clifford,  tenderly. 


62  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"It's  the  Salon,"  said  Braith,  as  Gethryn  went 
out  with  a  hasty  "Good-night." 

"Poor  Reggy,  how  hard  he  takes  it!"  sighed 
Clifford. 

Gethryn  hurried  along  the  familiar  streets 
with  his  heart  in  his  boots  sometimes,  and  some 
times  in  his  mouth. 

In  his  box  was  a  letter,  and  a  note  addressed 
in  pencil.  He  snatched  them  both,  and  lighting 
a  candle,  mounted  the  stairs,  unlocked  his  door 
and  sank  breathless  upon  the  lounge.  He  tore 
open  the  first  envelope.  A  bit  of  paper  fell  out. 
It  was  from  Braith,  and  said: 

"I  congratulate  you  either  way.  If  you  are 
successful  I  shall  be  as  glad  as  you  are.  If  not, 
I  still  congratulate  you  on  the  manly  courage 
which  you  are  going  to  show,  in  turning  de 
feat  into  victory." 

"He's  one  in  a  million,"  thought  Gethryn, 
and  opened  the  other  letter.  It  contained  a 
folded  paper,  and  a  card.  The  card  was  white. 
The  paper  read: 

"You  are  admitted  to  the  Salon  with  a  No.  i. 
My  compliments,.  J  Lefebvre." 

He  ought  to  have  been   pleased,  but    instead 


IN  THE  QUARTER  63 

he  felt  weak  and  giddy,  and  the  pleasure  was 
more  like  pain.  He  leaned  against  the  table 
quite  unstrung,  his  mind  in  a  whirl.  He  got  up 
and  went  to  the  window.  Then  he  shook  him 
self,  and  walked  over  to  his  cabinet.  Taking 
out  a  bunch  of  keys,  he  selected  one  and  opened 
what  Clifford  called  his  "cellar." 

Clifford  knew  and  deplored  the  fact  that  Geth- 
ryn's  "cellar"  was  no  longer  open  to  the  pub 
lic.  Since  the  day  when  Rex  returned  from 
Julien's,  tired  and  cross,  to  find  a  row  of  empty 
bottles  on  the  floor  and  Clifford  on  the  sofa  con 
versing  incoherently  with  himself,  and  had  his 
questions  interrupted  by  a  maudlin  squawk  from 
the  parrot — also  tipsy — since  that  day,  Gethryn 
had  carried  the  key.  He  now  producd  a  wine 
glass,  and  a  dusty  bottle,  filled  the  one  from 
the  other  and  emptied  it  three  times  in  rapid 
succession.  Then  he  took  the  glass  to  the  wash 
basin  arid  rinsed  it  with  great  slowness  and 
precision.  Then  he  sat  down  and  tried  to  think. 
Number  One  meant  a  mention,  perhaps  a 
medal.  He  would  telegraph  his  aunt  to-morrow. 
Suddenly  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  tell  some  one. 
He  would  go  and  see  Braith.  No,  Braith  was 


64  IN  THE  QUARTER 

in  the  evening  class  at  the  Beaux  Arts; — so  were 
the  others,  excepting  Clifford  and  Elliott,  and 
they  were  at  a  ball  across  the  river. 

Whom  could  he  see?  He  thought  of  the 
gar9on.  He  would  ring  him  up  and  give  him  a 
glass  of  wine.  Alcide  was  a  good  fellow  and 
stole  very  little.  The  clock  struck  eleven. 

"No,  he's  gone  to  bed.  Alcide,  you've  missed 
a  glass  of  wine  and  a  cigar,  you  early  bird." 

His  head  was  clear  enough  now.  He  realized 
his  good  fortune.  He  had  never  been  so  happy 
in  his  life.  He  called  the  pups  and  romped 
with  them,  until  an  unlucky  misstep  sent  Mrs. 
Gummidge,  with  a  shriek,  to  the  top  of  the 
wardrobe,  whence  she  glared  at  Gethryn  and 
spit  at  the  delighted  raven. 

The  young  man  sat  down  fairly  out  of  breath, 
but  the  pups  still  kept  making  charges  at  his 
legs,  and  tumbled  over  themselves  with  barking. 
He  gathered  them  up  and  carried  them  into  his 
bedroom  to  their  sleeping  box.  As  he  stooped 
to  drop  them  in,  there  came  a  knock  at  his 
studio  door.  But  when  he  hastened  to  open  it, 
glad  of  company,  there  was  no  one  there.  Sur 
prised,  he  turned  back  and  saw  on  the  floor  be- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  65 

fore  him  a  note.  Picking  it  up  he  took  it  to  the 
lamp  and  read  it.  It  was  signed,  "Yvonne 
Descartes." 

When  he  had  read  it  twice,  he  sat  down  to 
think.  Presently  he  took  something  out  of  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  and  held  it  close  to  the  light. 
It  was  a  gold  brooch  in  the  shape  of  a  fleur-de-lis. 
On  the  back  was  engraved  "Yvonne."  He  held 
it  in  his  hand  awhile,  and  then,  getting  up, 
went  slowly  towards  the  door.  He  opened  the 
door,  closed  it  behind  him  and  moved  toward 
the  stairs.  Suddenly  he  started. 

"Braith!      Is  that  you?" 

There  was  no  answer.  His  voice  sounded 
hollow  in  the  tiled  hallway. 

"Braith,"  he  said  again.  "I  thought  I  heard 
him  say  'Rex.'"  But  he  kept  on  to  the  next 
floor  and  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  room 
which  was  directly  under  his  own.  He  paused, 
hesitated,  looking  up  at  a  ray  of  light  which 
came  out  from  a  crack  in  the  transom. 

"It's  too  late,"  he  muttered,  and  turned  away 
irresolutely. 

A  clear  voice  called  from  within,  "Entrez 
done,  Monsieur." 


66  IN  THE  QUARTER 

He  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

On  a  piano  stood  a  shaded  lamp,  which  threw 
a  soft  yellow  light  over  everything.  The  first 
glance  gave  him  a  hasty  impression  of  a  white 
lace-covered  bed,  and  a  dainty  tcilet  table  on 
which  stood  a  pair  of  tall  silver  candlesticks; 
and  then,  as  the  soft  voice  spoke  again,  "Will 
Monsieur  be  seated?"  he  turned  and  confronted 
the  girl  whom  he  had  helped  in  the  Place  de 
la  Concorde.  She  lay  in  a  cloud  of  fleecy  wrap 
pings  on  a  lounge  that  was  covered  with  a  great 
white  bearskin.  Her  blue  eyes  met  Gethryn's, 
and  he  smiled  faintly.  She  spoke  again: 

"Will  Monsieur  sit  a  little  nearer?  It  is  diffi 
cult  to  speak  loudly, — I  have  so  little  strength." 

Gethryn  walked  over  to  the  sofa  and  half  un 
consciously  sank  down  on  the  rug  which  fell  on 
the  floor  by  the  invalid's  side.  He  spoke  as  he 
would  to  a  sick  child. 

"I  am  so  very  glad  you  are  better.  I  inquired 
of  the  concierge  and  she  told  me." 

A  slight  color  crept  into  the  girl's  face.  "You 
are  so  good.  Ah!  what  should  I  have  done — 
what  can  I  say?"  She  stopped;  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  67 

"Please  say  nothing — please  forget  it." 

"Forget!"  Presently  she  continued,  almost 
in  a  whisper,  "I  had  so  much  to  say  to  you,  and 
now  you  are  really  here,  I  can  think  of  nothing, 
only  that  you  saved  me." 

"Mademoiselle— I  beg!" 

She  lay  silent  a  moment  more;  then  she 
raised  herself  from  the  sofa  and  held  out  her 
hand.  His  hand  and  eyes  met  hers, 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said,  "I  can  never  for 
get."  Then  she  sank  back  among  the  white 
fluff  of  lace  and  fur.  "I  only  learned  this  morn 
ing,"  she  went  on,  after  a  minute,  "who  sat  be 
side  me  all  that  night  and  bathed  my  arm,  and 
gave  me  cooling  drinks." 

Gethryn  colored.  "There  was  no  one  else  to 
take  care  of  you.  I  sent  for  my  friend,  Doctor 
Ducrot,  but  he  was  out  of  town.  Then  Dr. 
Bouvier  promised  to  come,  and  didn't.  The 
concierge  was  ill  herself — I  could  not  leave  you 
alone.  You  know,  you  were  a  little  out  of  your 
head  with  fright  and  fever.  I  really  couldn't 
leave  you  to  get  on  by  yourself." 

"No,"  cried  the  girl,  excitedly,  "you  could 
not  leave  me,  after  carrying  me  out  of  that  ter- 


68  IN  THE  QUARTER 

rible  crowd;  yourself  hurt,  exhausted,  you  sat 
by  my  side  all  night  long." 

Gethryn  laid  his  hand  on  her.  "H^lene,"  he 
said,  half  jesting,  "I  did  what  any  one  else  would 
have  done  under  the  circumstances, — and  for 
gotten." 

She  looked  at  him  shyly.  "Don't  forget," 
she  said. 

"I  couldn't  forget  your  face,"  he  rashly  an 
swered,  moved  by  the  emotion  she  showed. 

She  brightened. 

"Did  you  know  me  when  you  first  saw  me 
in  the  crowd?"  She  expected  him  to  say 
"Yes." 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  only  saw  you  were  a 
woman  and  in  danger  of  your  life." 

The  brightness  fell  from  her  face.  "Then  it 
was  all  the  same  to  you  who  I  was." 

He  nodded.      "Yes — any  woman,  you  know." 

"Old  and  dirty  and  ugly?" 

His  hand  slipped  from  hers.  "And  a  woman 
—yes.'7 

She  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders.  "Then  I 
wish  it  had  been  some  one  else." 

"So  do  I,  for  your  sake,"  he  answered  gravely. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  69 

She  glanced   at  him,    half   frightened,    then, 
leaning  swiftly  toward  him: 

"Forgive  me;  I  would  not  change  places  with 

a  queen." 

"Nor  I  with  any  man!"  he  cried  gayly,     "Am 

I  not  Paris?" 

"And  I?" 

"You  are  Helene,"  he  said,  laughing.  "Let 
me  see— Paris  and  Helene  would  not  have 

changed — " 

She  interrupted  him  impatiently.  "Words! 
you  do  not  mean  them.  Nor  do  I  either,"  she 
added,  hastily.  After  that  neither  spoke  for 
awhile.  Gethryn,  half  stretched  on  the  big  rug, 
idly  twisting  bits  of  it  into  curls,  felt  very  com 
fortable,  without  troubling  to  ask  himself  what 
would  come  next.  Presently  she  glanced  up. 

"Paris,  do  you  want  to  smoke?" 

"You  don't  think  I  would  smoke  in  this  dainty 
nest?" 

"Please  do,  I  like  it.  We  are— we  will  be 
such  very  good  friends.  There  are  matches  on 
that  table  in  the  silver  box." 

•He  shook  his  head,  laughing.  "You  are  too 
indulgent." 


70  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"I  am  never  indulgent,  excepting  to  myself. 
But  I  have  caprices  and  I  generally  die  when 
they  are  not  indulged.  This  is  one.  Please 
smoke." 

"Oh,  in  that  case,  with  Helene's  permission." 

She  laughed  delightedly  as  he  blew  the  rings 
of  fragrant  smoke  far  up  to  the  ceiling.  There 
was  another  long  pause,  then  she  began  again: 

"Paris,  you  speak  French  very  well." 

He  came  from  where  he  had  been  standing 
by  the  table  and  seated  himself  once  more 
among  the  furs  at  her  feet. 

"Do  I,   Helene?" 

"Yes — ;but  you  sing  it  divinely." 

Gethryn  began  to  hum  the  air  ot  the  dream 
song,  smiling,  "Yes  'tis  a  dream — a  dream  of 
love,"  he  repeated,  but  stopped. 

Yvonne's  temples  and  throat  were  crimson. 

"Please  open  the  window,"  she  cried,  "it's  so 
warm  here." 

"Helene,  I  think  you  are  blushing,"  said  he, 
mischievously. 

She  turned  her  head  away  from  him.  He  rose 
and  opened  the  window  leaning  out  a  moment; 
his  heart  was  beating  violently.  Presently  he 
returned. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  71 

"It's  one  o'clock." 
No  answer. 

"Helene,  it's  one  o'clock  in  the  morning." 
"Are  you  tired?"  she  murmured. 
"No." 

"Nor  I— don't  go." 
"But  it's  one  o'clock." 
"Don't  go  yet." 

He  sank  down   irresolutely  on   the  rug  again. 
"I  ought  to  go,"  he  murmured. 
"Are  we  to  remain  friends?" 
"That  is  for  Helene  to  say." 
"And  Helene  will  leave  it  to  Homer  1" 
"To  whom?"  said  Gethryn. 
"Monsieur  Homer,"  said  the  girl,  faintly. 
"But  that  was  a  tragedy." 
"But  they  were  friends." 
"In  a  way.   Yes,  in  away." 
Gethryn  tried  to  return  to  alight  tone.   "They 
fell  in  love,  I  believe."  No  answer.   "Very  well," 
said  Gethryn,  still  trying  to   joke,  "I  will  carry 
you  oft  in  a  boat,  then." 
"To  Troy — when?" 

"No,  to  Meudon,  when  you  are  well.   Do  you 
like  the  country?" 


72  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"I  love  it,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I'll  take  my  easel  and  my  paints  along 
too." 

She  looked  at  him  seriously.  "You  are  an 
artist — I  heard  that  from  the  concierge." 

"Yes,"  said  Gethryn,  "I  think  I  may  claim 
the  title  to-night." 

And  then  he  told  her  about  the  Salon.  She 
listened,  and  brightened  with  sympathy.  Then 
she  grew  silent. 

"Do  yon  paint  landscapes?" 

"Figures,"  said  the  young  man,  shortly. 

"From  models?" 

"Of  course,"  he  answered,  still  more  drily. 

"Draped,"  she  persisted. 

"No." 

"I  hate  models!" she  cried  out,  almost  fiercely. 

"They  are  not  a  pleasing  set,  as  a  rule,"  he 
admitted.  "But  I  know  some  decent  ones." 

She  shivered  and  shook  her  curly  head.  "Some 
are  very  pretty,  I  suppose." 

"Some." 

"Do  you  know  Sarah  Brown?" 

"Yes,  I  know  Sarah." 

"Hen  go  wild  about  her." 


IN  THE  QUARTER  73 

"I  never  did." 

Yvonne  was  out  of  humor.  "Oh,"  she  cried, 
petulantly,  "you  are  very  cold — you  Ameri 
cans, — like  ice." 

"Because  we  don't  run  after  Sarah?" 

"Because  you  are  a  nation  of  business,  and — " 

"And  brains,"  said  Gethryn,  drily. 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause.  Gethryn 
looked  at  the  girl.  She  lay  with  her  face  turned 
from  him. 

"Helene!"  No  answer.  "Yvonne, — Made 
moiselle!"  No  answer.  "It's  two  o'clock." 

A  slight  impatient  movement  of  the  head. 

"Good-night."  Gethryn  rose.  "Good-night," 
he  repeated.  He  waited  for  a  moment. 
"Good-night,  Yvonne,"  he  said,  for  the  third 
time. 

She  turned  slowly  toward  him,  and  as  he 
looked  down  at  her,  he  felt  a  tenderness  as  for 
a  sick  child. 

"Good-night,"  he  said,  once  more,  and,  bend 
ing  over  her,  gently  laid  the  little  gold  clasp  in 
her  open  hand.  She  looked  at  it  in  surprise; 
then  suddenly  she  leaned  swiftly  toward  him, 
rested  a  brief  second  against  him,  and  then  sank 


74  IN  THE  QUARTER 

back  again.  The  golden  fleur-de-lis  glittered 
over  his  heart. 

"You  will  wear  it?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes." 

"Then— good-night." 

Half  unconsciously  he  stooped  and  kissed  her 
forehead;  then  went  his  way.  And  all  that 
night  one  slept  until  the  morning  broke,  and 
one  saw  morning  break,  then  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  June.  In  the  Luxem 
bourg  Gardens  a  soft  breeze  stirred  the  tender 
chestnut  leaves,  and  blew  sparkling  ripples  across 
the  water  in  the  Fountain  of  Marie  de  Medicis. 

The  modest  little  hot-house  flowers  had  quite 
recovered  from  the   shock  of  recent   transplant 
ing,    and    were    ambitiously   pushing   out    long 
spikes  and  clusters  of  crimson,  purple  and  gold, 
filling  the  air  with  spicy   perfuma,  and  drawing 
an  occasional  battered  butterfly, gaunt  and  seedy, 
from  his  long  winter's  sleep,    but    still  remem 
bering  the  flowery  days  of  last  season's  brilliant 
debut. 

Through  the  fresh  young  leaves  the  sunshine 
fell,  dappling  the  glades  and  thickets,  bathing 
the  gray  walls  of  the  Palais  du  Senat,  and  al 
most  warming  into  life  the  queer  old  statues  of 
long  departed  royalty,  which,  for  so  many 
years,  have  looked  down  from  the  great  terrace 

to  the  Palace  of  the  King. 

75 


76  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Through  every  gate  the  people  drifted  into 
the  gardens,  and  the  winding  paths  were  dotted 
and  crowded  with  brightly- colored,  slowly-mov 
ing  groups. 

Here  a  half  dozen  meager,  black-robed  priests 
strolled  silently  amid  the  tender  verdure;  here 
a  noisy  crowd  of  children  gamboling  awkwardly 
in  the  wake  of  a  painted  rubber  ball,  made  day 
hideous  with  their  yells. 

Now  a  slovenly  company  of  dragoons  shuffled 
by,  their  big  shapeless  boots  covered  with  dust, 
and  their  whale-bone  plumes  hanging  in  straight 
points  to  the  middle  of  their  backs;  now  a 
group  of  strutting  students  and  cocottes  passed 
noisily,  the  girls  in  spotless  spring  plumage,  the 
students  vying  with  each  other  in  the  display 
of  blinking  eyeglasses,  huge  bunchy  neckties, 
and  sleek  checked  trousers.  Policemen,  trim 
little  grisettes  (for  whatever  is  said  to  the  con 
trary,  the  grisette  is  still  extant  in  Paris),  nurse 
girls  with  turbaned  heads  and  ugly  red  stream 
ers,  wheeling  ugly  red  babies;  an  occasional 
stray  zouave  or  turco  in  curt  Turkish  jacket  and 
white  leggings;  grave  old  gentlemen  with  white 
moustache  and  military  step;  gay,  baggy  gentle- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  77 

men  from  St.  Cyr,  looking  like  newly-painted 
wooden  soldiers;  students  from  the  Ecole  Poly- 
technique;  students  from  the  Lycee  St.  Louis, 
in  blue  and  red;  students  from  Julien's  and  the 
Beaux  Arts,  with  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  berets 
and  corduroy  jackets;  and  group  after  group  of 
jingling  artillery  officers  in  scarlet  and  black, 
or  hussars  and  chasseurs  in  pale  turquoise, 
strolled  and  idled  up  and  down  the  terrace,  or 
watched  the  toy  yachts  braving  the  furies  of  the 
great  fountain. 

Over  by  the  playgrounds,  the  Polichinel 
nuisance  drummed  and  squeaked  to  an  appre 
ciative  audience  of  tender  years.  The  "Jeu  de 
paume"  was  also  in  full  swing,  a  truly  exasperat 
ing  spectacle  for  a  modern  tennis  player. 

The  old  man  who  feeds  the  sparrows  in  the 
afternoon,  and  beats  his  wife  at  night,  was  in 
tent  on  the  former  cheerful  occupation,  and 
smiled  benevolently  upon  the  little  children  who 
watched  him,  open  mouthed.  The  numerous 
water-fowl, — mallard,  teal,  red  head,  and  dusky, 
waddled  and  dived  and  fought  the  big  mouse- 
colored  pigeons  for  a  share  of  the  sparrow's 
crumbs. 


78  IN  THE  QUARTER 

A  depraved  and  mongrel  pointer,  who  had 
tugged  at  his  chain  in  a  wild  endeavor  to  point 
the  whole  heterogeneous  mass  of  feathered 
creatures  from  sparrow  to  swan,  lost  his  head 
and  howled  dismally  until  dragged  off  by  the 
lean-legged  student  who  was  attached  to  the 
other  end  of  the  chain. 

Gethryn,  sprawling  on  a  bench  in  the  sunshine, 
turned  up  his  nose.  Braith  grunted  scornful- 

iy. 

A  man  passed  in  the  crowd,  stopped,  stared, 
and  then  hastily  advanced  toward  Gethryn. 

"You?"  said  Rex,  smiling  and  shaking  hands. 
"Mr.  Clifford,  this  is  Mr.  Bulfinch;  Mr.  Braith," 
— but  Mr.  Bulfinch  was  already  bowing  to 
Braith  and  offering  his  hand,  though  with  a 
curious  diminution  of  his  first  beaming  cordial 
ity.  Braith's  constraint  was  even  more  marked. 
He  had  turned  quite  white.  Bulfinch  and  Geth 
ryn,  who  had  risen  to  receive  him,  remained 
standing  side  by  side,  stranded  on  the  shoals 
of  an  awkward  situation.  The  little  "Mirror" 
man  made  a  grab  at  a  topic  which  he  thought 
would  float  them  off,  and  laid  hold  instead  on 
one  which  upset  them  altogether. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  W 

"I  hope  Mrs.  Braith    is    well.      She   met  you 
all  right  at  Vienna?" 

Braith  bowed  stiffly,  without  answering. 

Rex  gave  him  a  quick  look,  and  turning  on 
his  heel,  said  carelessly: 

"I  see  you  and  Mr.  Braith  are  old  acquaint 
ances,  so  I  won't  scruple  to  leave  you  with  him 
for  a  moment.  Bring  Mr.  Bulfinch  over  to  the 
music  stand,  Braith."  And  smiling,  as  if  he 
were  assisting  at  a  charming  reunion,  he  led 
Clifford  away.  The  latter  turned  as  he  departed, 
an  eye  of  delighted  intelligence  upon  Braith. 

To  renew  his  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Bulfinch 
was  the  last  thing  Braith  desired,  but  since  the 
meeting  had  been  thrust  upon  him,  he  thanked 
Gethryn's  tact  for  removing  such  a  witness  of 
it  as  Clifford  would  have  been.  He  had  no  in 
tention,  however,  of  talking  with  the  little  "Mir 
ror"  man,  and  maintained  a  profound  silence, 
smoking  steadily.  This  conduct  so  irritated 
the  other,  that  he  determined  to  force  an  ex 
planation  of  the  matter  which  seemed  so  dis 
tasteful  to  his  ungracious  companion.  He  cer 
tainly  thought  he  had  his  own  reasons  for  re 
senting  the  sight  of  Braith  upon  a  high  horse, 


80  IN  THE  QUARTER 

and  he  resumed  the  conversation,  with  al] 
the  jaunty  ease  which  the  calling  of  newspaper 
correspondent  is  said  to  cultivate. 

"I  hope  Mrs.  Braith  found  no  difficulty  in 
meeting  you  in  Vienna?" 

"Madame  was  not  my  wife,  and  we  did  not 
meet  in  Vienna,"  said  Braith  shortly. 

Bulfinch  began  to  stare,  and  to  feel  a  little 
less  at  ease. 

"She  told  me— that  is,  her  courier  came  to 
me  and — " 

"Her  courier?  Mr.  Bulfinch,  will  you  please 
explain  what  you  are  talking  about?"  Braith 
turned  square  around  and  looked  at  him  in  a 
way  that  caused  a  still  further  diminution  of 
his  jauntiness  and  a  proportionate  increase  of 
respect. 

"Oh — I'll  explain,  if  I  know  what  you  want 
explained.  We  were  at  Brindisi,  were  we  not?" 

"Yes." 

"On  our  way  to  Cairo?" 

"Yes." 

"In  the  same  hotel?" 

"Yes." 

"But  I  had   no    acquaintance  with    madame, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  81 

and  had  only  exchanged  a  word  or  two  with 
you,  when  you  were  suddenly  summoned  to  Paris 
by  a  telegram." 

Braith  bowed.  He  remembered  well  the  false 
dispatch  that  had  drawn  him  out  of  the  way. 

"Well,  and  when  you  left,  you  told  her  you 
would  be  obliged  to  give  up  going  to  Cairo,  and 
asked  her  to  meet  you  in  Vienna,  whither  you 
would  have  to  go  from  Paris?" 

"Oh,  did  I?" 

"And  you  recommended  a  courier  to  her  whom 
you  knew  very  well,  and  in  whom  you  had  great 
confidence." 

"Ah!     And  what  was  that  courier's  name?" 

"Emanuel  Pick.  I  wasn't  fond  of  Emanuel 
myself,"  with  a  sharp  glance  at  Braith's  eyes, 
"but  I  supposed  you  knew  something  in  his 
favor,  or  you  would  not  have  left — er — the  lady 
in  his  charge." 

Braith  was  silent. 

"I  understood  him  to  be  your  agent/1  said 
the  little  man,  cautiously. 

"He  was   not." 

"Oh!" 

A  long    silence   followed,    during  which   Mr. 


82  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Bulfinch  sought  and   found   an    explanation    of 
several  things.      After  awhile  he  said  musingly: 
"I  should  like  to  meet  Mr.  Pick  again." 
"Why  should  you  want  to  meet  him?" 
"I  wish  to  wring  his  nose  two  hundred  times, 
one  for  each  franc  I  lent  him." 

"How  was  that?"  said  Braith,  absently. 
"It  was  this  way.  He  came  to  me  and  told 
me  what  I  have  repeated  to  you,  and  that  you 
desired  madame  to  go  on  at  once  and  wait  for 
you  in  Vienna,  which  you  expected  to  reach  in  a 
few  days  after  her  arrival.  That  you  had  bought 
tickets,  one  first-class  for  madame — two  second- 
class  for  him  and  for  her  maid,  before  you  left, 
and  had  told  her  you  had  placed  plenty  of  money 
for  the  other  expenses  in  her  dressing-case. 
But  this  morning,  on  looking  for  the  money, 
none  could  be  found.  Madame  was  sure  it  had 
not  been  stolen.  She  thought  you  must  have 
meant  to  put  it  there,  and  forgotten  afterwards. 
If  she  only  had  a  few  francs,  just  to  last  as  far 
as  Naples!  Madame  was  well  known  to  the 
bankers  on  the  Santa  Lucia  there!  etc.  Well, 
I'm  not  such  an  ass  that  I  didn't  first  see  ma 
dame  and  get  her  to  confirm  his  statement.  But 


IN  THE  QUARTER  83 

when  she  did  confirm  it,  with 'such  a  charming 
laugh, — she  was  very  pretty, — I  thought  she 
was  a  lady,  and  your  wife — " 

In  the  midst  of  his  bitterness,  Braith  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  thought  of  Nina  with  a 
maid  and  a  courier.  He  remembered  the  tiny 
apartment  in  the  Latin  Quarter  which  she  had 
been  glad  to  occupy  with  him  until  conducted 
by  her  courier  into  finer  ones.  He  made  a  ges 
ture  of  disgust,  and  his  face  burned  with  the 
shame  of  a  proud  man  who  has  received  an 
affront  from  an  inferior, — and  who  knows  it  to 
be  his  own  fault. 

"I  can  at  least  have  the  satisfaction  of  set 
ting  that  right,"  he  said,  holding  two  notes  to 
ward  the  little  "Mirror"  man,  "and  I  can't  thank 
you  enough  for  giving  me  the  opportunity." 

Bulfinch  drew  back  and  stammered,  "You 
don't  think  I  spoke  for  that!  You  don't  think 
I'd  have  spoken  at  all  if  I  had  known — " 

"I  do  not.  And  I'm  very  glad  you  did  not 
know,  for  it  gives  me  a  chance  to  clear  myself. 
You  must  have  thought  me  strangely  forgetful, 
Mr.  Bulfinch,  when  the  money  was  not  repaid  in 
due  time." 


81  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"I  — I  didn't  relish  the  manner  in  which  you 
met  me  just  now,  I  confess,  but  I'm  very  much 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  am  indeed." 

"Shake  hands,"  said  Braith,  with  one  of  his 
rare  smiles. 

The  notes  were  left  in  Mr.  Bulfinch's  ringers, 
and  as  he  thrust  them  hastily  out  of  sight,  as 
if  he  truly  was  ashamed,  he  said,  blinking  up 
at  Braith,  "Do  you, — er — would  you — may  I 
offer  you  a  glass  of  whisky?"  adding  hastily, 
"I  don't  drink  myself." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Braith,  "I  don't  mind,  but 
I  won't  drink  all  alone." 

"Coffee  is  my  tipple,"  said  the  other,  in  a 
faint  voice. 

"All  right;  suit  yourself.  But  I  should  think 
that  rather  hot  for  such  a  day." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  it  iced." 

"Then  let  us  walk  over  to  the  Cafe  by  the 
band-stand.  We  shall  find  the  others  some 
where  about." 

They  strolled  through  the  grove,  past  the 
music-stand,  and  sat  down  at  one  of  the  little 
iron  tables  under  the  trees.  The  band  of  the 
Garde  Republicaine  was  playing.  Bulrinch  or- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  85 

dered  sugar  and    Eau   de   selz  for   Braith,    and 
iced  coffee  for  himself. 

Braith  looked  at  the  programme:— No.  I, 
Faust  No.  2,  La  Belle  Helene. 

"Rex  ought  to  be  here,  he's  so  fond  of  that." 

Mr.  Bulfinch  was  mixing,  in  a  surprisingly 
scientific  manner  for  a  man  who  didn't  drink 
himself,  something  which  the  French  call  a 
"coquetelle;"  a  bit  of  ice,  a  little  selzer,  a  slice 
of  lemon,  and  some  Crnadian  Club  whisky. 
Braith  eyed  the  well-worn  flask. 

"I  see  you  don't  trust  to  the  Cafe's  supplies." 

"I  only  keep  this  for  medicinal  purposes," 
said  the  other,  blinking  nervously,  "and, — and 
I  don't  usually  produce  it  when  there  are  any 
newspaper  men  around." 

"But  you,"  said  Braith,  sipping  the  mixture 
with  relish,  "do  you  take  none  yourself?" 

"I  don't  drink,"  said  the  other,  and  swallowed 
his  coffee  in  such  a  hurry  as  to  bring  on  a  fit  of 
coughing.  Beads  of  perspiration  clustered 
above  his  canary-colored  eyebrows,  as  he  set 
down  the  glass  with  a  gasp. 

Braith  was  watching  the  crowd.  Presently 
he  exclaimed; 


80  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"There's  Rex  now,"  and  rising,  waved  his 
glass  and  his  cane,  and  called  Gethryn's  name. 
The  people  sitting  at  adjacent  tables  glanced 
at  one  another  resignedly.  "More  crazy  En 
glish!" 

"Rex!  Clifford!"  Braith  shouted,  until  at  last 
they  heard  him.  In  a  few  moments  they  had 
made  their  way  through  the  crowd,  and  sat 
down,  mopping  their  faces  and  protesting  plain 
tively  against  the  heat. 

Gethryn's  glance  questioned  Braith,  who 
said,  "Mr.  Bulfinch  and  I  have  had  the  deuce 
of  a  time  to  make  you  fellows  hear.  You'd 
have  been  easier  to  call  if  you  knew  what  sort 
of  drink  he  can  brew." 

Clifford  was  already  sniffing  knowingly  at  the 
glass,  and  turning  looks  of  deep  intelligence  on 
Bulfinch,  who  responded  gayly,  "Hope  you'll 
have  some  too,"  and  with  a  sidelong  blink  at 
Gethryn,  he  produced  the  bottle,  saying,  "I 
don't  drink  myself,  as  Mr.  Gethryn  knows." 

Rex  said,  "Certainly  not,"  not  knowing  what 
else  to  say.  But  the  fondness  of  Clifford's  gaze 
was  ineffable. 

Braith,  who  always  hated  to  see  Clifford  look 


IN  THE  QU/IRTER  87 

like    that,  turned    to    Gethryn.       "Favorite    of 
yours  on  the  programme." 

Rex  looked. 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  "Belle  Helene."  Next  mo 
ment  he  flushed,  and  feeling  as  if  the  others  saw 
it,  crimsoned  all  the  deeper.  This  escaped 
Clifford,  however,  who  was  otherwise  occupied. 
But  he  joined  in  the  conversation,  hoping  for  an 
argument. 

"Braith  and  Rex  go  in  for  the  Meistersinger, 
Walkure,    and  all   that   rot,— but    I   like    some 
tune   to  my  music." 

"Well,  you're  going  to  get  it  now,"  said 
Braith;  "the  band  are  taking  their  places.  Now 
for  La  Belle  Helene."  He  glanced  at  Gethryn, 
who  had  turned  aside  and  leaned  on  the  table, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  programme. 

The  leader  of  the  band  stood  wiping  his  mus 
tache  with  one  hand,  while  he  turned  the  leaves 
of  his  score  with  the  other.  The  musicians 
came  in  laughing  and  chattering,  munching 
their  bit  of  biscuit,  or  smacking  their  lips  over 
lingering  reminiscences  of  the  intermission. 
They  hung  their  bayonets  against  the  wall,  and 
at  the  rat-tat  of  attention,  came  to  order,  stand- 


88  IN  THE  QUARTER 

ing  in  a  circle  with  bugles  and  trombones 
poised,  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  little  gold-mounted 
baton. 

A  slow  wave  of  the  white-gloved  hand,  a  few 
gentle  tips  of  the  wand,  and  then  a  sweep  which 
seemed  to  draw  out  the  long,  rich  opening  chord 
of  the  Dream  Song,  and  set  it  drifting  away 
among  the  trees  till  it  lost  itself  in  the  rattle  and 
clatter  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel. 

Braith  and  Bullinch  set  down  their  glasses 
and  listened.  Clifford  silently  blew  long 
wreaths  of  smoke  into  the  branches  overhead. 
Gethryn  leaned  heavily  on  the  table,  one  hand 
shading  his  eyes. 

"Oui  c'est  un  reve; 

Un  reve  doux  d'amour — " 

The  music  died  away  in  one  last  throb.  Bui- 
finch  sighed  and  blinked  sentimentally,  first  on 
one  then  on  the  other  of  his  companions. 

Suddenly  the  little  "Mirror"  man's  eyes  bulged 
out,  he  stiffened  and  grasped  Braith' s  arm;  his 
fingers  were  like  iron. 

"What  the  deuce!" began  Braith,  but,  fellow- 
ing  the  other's  eyes,  he  became  silent  and  stern. 

"Talk  of  the  devil — do  you  see   him, — Pick?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  89 

XT 

"I  see,"  growled  Braith. 

"And, — and  excuse  me,  but  can  that  be  ma- 
dame?  So  like,  and  yet — " 

Braith  leaned  forward  and  looked  steadily  at 
a  couple  who  were  slowly  moving  toward  them, 
in  deep  conversation. 

"No,"  he  said  at  last;  and  leaning  back  in  his 
seat  he  refused  to  speak  again. 

Bulfinch  chattered  on  excitedly,  and  at  last 
he  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  at  his  right, 
where  Clifford  sat  drawing  a  caricature  on  the 
marble  top. 

"I'd  like,"  cried  Bulfinch,  "to  take  it  out  of 
his  hide!" 

"Hello!"  said  Clifford,  disturbed  in  his  peace 
ful  occupation, "  whose  hide  are  you  going  to  tan  ?" 

"Nobody's,"  said  Braith,  sternly,  still  watch 
ing  the  couple  who  had  now  almost  reached 
their  group. 

Clifford's  start  had  roused  Gethryn,  who  stirred 
and  slowly  looked  up;  at  the  same  moment, 
the  girl,  now  very  near,  raised  her  head,  and 
Rex  gazed  full  into  the  eyes  of  Yvonne. 

Her  glance  fell,  and  the  color  flew  to  her  tem 
ples.  Gethryn' s  face  lost  all  its  color. 


90  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Pretty  girl,"  drawled    Clifford,  "but    what  a 
dirty  little  beggar  she  lugs  about  with  her." 

Pick  heard  and  turned,  his  eyes  falling  first 
on  Gethryn,  who  met  his  look  with  one  that 
was  worse  than  a  kick.  He  glanced  next  at 
Braith,  and  then  he  turned  green  under  the  dirty 
,  yellow  of  the  skin.  Braith's  eyes  seemed  to 
strike  fire;  his  mouth  was  close  set.  The  Jew's 
eyes  shifted,  only  to  fall  on  the  pale,  revengeful 
glare  of  T.  Hoppley  Bulfinch,  who  was  half  ris 
ing  from  his  chair  with  all  sorts  of  possibilities 
written  on  every  feature. 

"Let  him  go,"  whispered  Braith,  and  turned 
his  back. 

Bulfinch  sat  down,  his  eyes  like  saucers.  "I'd 
like— but  not  now!"  he  sputtered  in  a  weird 
whisper. 

Clifford  had  missed  the  whole  thing.  He  had 
only  eyes  for  the  girl. 

Gethryn  sat  staring  after  the  couple,  who 
were  at  that  moment  passing  the  gate  into  the 
Boulevard  St.  Michel.  He  saw  Yvonne  stop, 
and  hastily  thrust  something  into  the  Jew's 
hand,  then,  ignoring  his  obsequious  salute,  leave 
him,  and  hurry  down  the  Rue  de  Medicis, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  91 

The  next  Gethryn  knew,  Braith  was  standing 
beside  him. 

"Rex,  will  you  join  us  at  the  Golden  Pheasant 
for  dinner?"  was  what  he  said,  but  his  eyes 
added,  "Don't  let  people  see  you  look  like  that." 

"I— I — don't  know,"  said  Gethryn.  "Yes,  I 
think  so,"  with  an  effort. 

"Come  along,  then!"  said  Braith  to  the  others, 
and  hurried  them  away. 

Rex  sat  still  till  they  were  out  of  sight,  then 
he  got  up  and  turned  into  the  Avenue  de  1'Ob- 
servatoire.  He  stopped  and  drank  some  cognac 
at  a  little  cafe,  and  then  started  on,  but  he  had 
no  idea  where  he  was  going. 

Presently  he  found  himself  crossing  a  bridge, 
and  looked  up.  The  great  pile  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Paris  loomed  on  his  right.  He  crossed  the 
Seine,  and  wandered  on  without  any  aim — but 
passing  the  Tour  St.  Jacques,  and  wishing  to 
avoid  the  Boulevard,  he  made  a  sharp  detour  to 
the  right,  and  after  long  wandering  through  by 
ways  and  lanes,  he  crossed  the  foul,  smoky 
Canal  St.  Martin,  and  bore  again  to  the  right — 
always  aimlessly. 

Twilight  was  falling  when  his  steps  were  a> 


92  IN  THE  QUARTER 

rested  by  fatigue.  Looking  up,  he  found 
self  opposite  the  gloomy  mass  of  La  Roquette 
prison.  Sentinels  slouched  and  dawdled  up  and 
down  before  the  little  painted  sentry  boxes  un 
der  the  great  gate. 

Over  the  archway  was  some  lettering,  and 
Gethryn  stopped  to  read  it: 

"La  Roquette, 
Prison  of  the  Condemned." 

He  looked  up  and  down  the  cheerless  street. 
It  was  deserted  save  by  the  lounging  sentinels, 
and  one  wretched  child,  who  crouched  against 
the  gateway. 

"Fiche  moi  le  camp!  Aliens!  En  route!" 
growled  one  of  the  sentinels,  stamping  his  foot 
and  shaking  his  fist  at  the  bundle  of  rags. 

Gethryn  walked  toward  him. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  little  one?"  he 
asked. 

The  soldier  dropped  the  butt  of  his  rifle  with 
a  ring,  and  said  deferentially: 

"Pardon,  Monsieur,  but  the  gamin  has  been 
here  every  day  and  all  day  for  two  weeks.  It's 
disgusting." 

"Is  he  hungry?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  93 

"Ma  foi?  I  can't  tell  you,"  laughed  the  sen 
try,  shifting  his  weight  to  his  right  foot  and 
leaning  on  the  cross  of  his  bayonet. 

"Are  you  hungry,  little  one ?"  called  Gethryn, 
pleasantly. 

The  child  raised  his  head,  with  a  wolfish  stare, 
then  sank  it  again,  and  murmured:  "I  have  seen 
him  and  touched  him." 

Gethryn  turned  to  the  soldier: 

"What  does  he  mean  by  that?"  he  demanded. 

The  sentry  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "He 
means  he  saw  a  hunchback.  They  say  when 
one  sees  a  hunchback,  and  touches  him,  it 
brings  good  luck,  if  the  hunchback  is  neither  too 
old  nor  too  young.  Dame!  I  don't  say  there's 
nothing  in  it,  but  it  can't  save  Henri  Rigaud." 

"And  who  is  Henri  Rigaud?" 

"What!   Monsieur  has  not  heard  of  the  affair 
Rigaud?      Rigaud  who  did  the  double  murder!" 

"Oh,  yes!     In  the  Faubourg  du  Temple." 

The  sentry  nodded.     "He  dies  this  week." 

"And  the  child?" 

"Is  his." 

Gethryn  looked  at  the   dirty   little  bundle    of 
tatters. 


94  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"No  one  knows  the  exact  day  set  for  the  affair, 
but,"  the  sentry  sank  his  voice  to  a  whisper, 
"between  you  and  me,  I  saw  the  widow  going 
into  the  yard  just  before  dinner,  and  Monsieur 
de  Paris  is  here.  That  means  to-morrow  morn 
ing—click!" 

"The — the  widow?"  repeated  Gethryn. 

"The  guillotine.  It  will  be  over  before  this 
time  to-morrow  and  the  gamin  there,  who  thinks 
the  bossu  will  give  him  back  his  father, — he'll 
find  out  his  mistake,  all  in  good  time,— all 
in  good  time!"  and  shouldering  his  rifle,  the 
sentry  laughed  and  resumed  his  slouching  walk 
before  the  gateway. 

Gethryn  nodded  to   the   soldier's  salute,  and 
went  up  to  the  child,  who  stood  leaning  sullenly 
against  the  wall. 
i     "Do  you  know  what  a  franc  is?"  he  asked. 

The  gamin  eyed  him  doggedly. 

"But  I  saw  him,"  he  said. 

"Saw  what?"  said  Gethryn,  gently. 

"The  bossu,"  repeated  the   wretched   infant, 
vacantly. 

"See   here,"    said   Gethryn,     "listen    to   me. 
What  would  you  do  with  twenty  francs?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  95 

"Eat,  all  day  long,  forever!" 
Rex  slipped  two  twenty-franc  pieces  into  the 
filthy  little  fist. 

"Eat,"  he  murmured,  and  turned  away. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Next  morning,  when  Clifford  arrived  at  the 
Atelier  of  MM.  Boulanger  and  Lefebvre,  he  found 
the  students  more  excited  than  usual  over  the 
advent  of  a  "Nouveau." 

Hazing  at  Julien's  has  assumed,  of  late,  a 
comparatively  mild  form.  Of  course  there  are 
traditions  of  serious  trouble  in  former  years, 
and  a  few  fights  have  taken  place,  consequent 
upon  the  indignant  resistance  of  new  men  to 
the  ridiculous  demands  forced  upon  them  by 
their  ingenious  tormentors.  Still  the  hazing 
of  to-day  is  comparatively  inoffensive,  and  there 
is  not  much  of  it.  In  the  winter  the  students 
are  too  busy  to  notice  a  newcomer,  except  to 
make  him  feel  strange  and  humble  by  their  lofty 
scorn.  But  in  the  autumn,  when  the  men  have 
returned  from  their  long  out-of-door  rest,  with 
brush  and  palette,  a  certain  amount  of  friskiness 
is  developed,  which  sometimes  expends  itself 
upon  the  luckless  "nouveau."  A  harmless 

96 


IN  THE  QUARTER  97 

search  for  the  time-honored  "grand  reflecteur," 
an  enforced  song  and  dance,  a  stern  command 
to  tread  the  mazes  of  the  shameless  qua 
drille,  with  an  equally  shameless  model,  is  usu 
ally  the  extent  of  the  infliction.  Occasionally  the 
stranger  is  invited  to  sit  on  a  high  stool  and  read 
aloud  to  the  others  while  they  work,  as  he  would 
like  to  do  himself.  But  sometimes,  if  a  man 
resists  these  reasonable  demands,  in  a  contuma 
cious  manner,  he  is  "crucified."  This  occurs  so 
seldom,  however,  that  Clifford  on  entering  the 
barn-like  studios  that  morning  was  surprised  to 
see  that  a  "crucifixion"  was  in  progress. 

A  stranger  was  securely  strapped  to  the  top 
rungs  of  a  twenty-foot  ladder,  which  a  crowd 
of  Frenchmen  were  preparing  to  raise  and  place 
in  a  slanting  position  against  the  wall. 

"Who  is  it  that  those  fellows  are  fooling 
with?"  he  asked. 

"An  Englishman,  and  it's  about  time  we  put 
a  stop  to  it,"  answered  Elliott. 

When  Americans  or  Englishmen  are  hazed  by 
the  French  students,  they  make  common  cause 
in  keeping  watch  that  the  matter  does  not  go 
too  far. 


OS  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"How  many  of  us  are  here  this  morning?" 
said  Clifford. 

"Fourteen  who  can  fight/'  said  Elliott;  "they 
only  want  some  one  to  give  the  word." 

Clifford  buttoned  his  jacket  and  shouldered  his 
way  into  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  "That's 
enough.  He's  been  put  through  enough  for  to 
day,"  he  said  coolly. 

A  Frenchman,  who  had  himself  only  entered 
the  Atelier  the  week  previous,  laughed  and  re 
plied,  "We'll  put  you  on,  if  you  say  any 
thing." 

There  was  an  ominous  pause.  Every  old 
student  there  knew  Clifford  to  be  one  of  the 
most  skillful  and  dangerous  boxers  in  the  school. 

They  looked  with  admiration  upon  their 
countryman.  It  didn't  cost  anything  to  admire 
him.  They  urged  him  on,  and  he  didn't  need 
much  urging,  for  he  remembered  his  own  recent 
experience  as  a  new  man,  and  he  didn't  know 
Clifford. 

"Go  ahead,"  cried  this  misguided  student, 
"tie's  a  nouveau,  and  he's  going  up!" 

Clifford  laughed  in  his  face.  "Come  along," 
he  called,  as  some  dozen  English  and  American 


IN  THE  QUARTER  90 

students  pushed  into    the    circle   and   gathered 
round  the  prostrate  Englishman. 

"See  here,  Clifford,  what's    the  use  of  inter 
rupting?"  urged  a  big  Frenchman, 

Clifford  began  loosening  the  straps.  "You 
know,  Bonin,  that  we  always  do  interfere  when  it 
goes  as  far  as  this  against  an  Englishman  or  an 
American."  He  laughed  good-naturedly. 
"There's  always  baan  a  fight  over  it  before,  but 
I  hope  there  won't  be  any  to-day." 

Bonin  grinned  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

After  vainly  fussing  with  the  ropes,  Clifford 
and  the  others  finally  cut  them  and  the  "nou- 
veau"  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  took  an  attitude 
which  may  be  seen  engraved  in  any  volume  of 
iustruction  in  the  noble  art  of  self-defense.  He 
was  an  Englishman  of  the  sandy  variety.  Orange- 
colored  whiskers  decorated  a  carefully  scrubbed 
face,  terminating  in  a  red-brown  mustache. 
He  had  blue  eyes,  now  lighted  to  a  pale  green 
by  the  fire  of  battle,  reddish-brown  hair,  and 
white  hands  spattered  with  orange-colored 
freckles.  All  this,  together  with  a  well  made 
suit  of  green  and  yellow  checks,  and  the  see 
saw  accent  of  the  British  Empire,  answered, 


100  IN  THE  QUARTER 

when  politely  addressed,  to  the  name    of  Chol- 
mondeley  Rowden,  Esq. 

"I  say,"  he  began,  "I'm  awfully  obliged,  you 
know,  and  all  that;  but  I'd  jolly  well  like  to 
give  some  of  these  cads  a  jolly  good  licking, 
you  know." 

"Go  in,  my  friend,  go  in!"  laughed  Clifford; 
"but  next  time  we'll  leave  you  to  hang  in  the  air 
for  an  hour  or  two,  that's  all." 

"Damn  their   cheek!"  began  the  Englishman. 

"See  here,"  cried  Elliott  sharply,  "you're  only 
a  nouveau,  and  you'd  better  shut  up  till  you've 
been  here  long  enough  to  talk." 

"In  other  words,"  said  Clifford,  "don't  buck 
against  custom." 

"But  I  cahn'tseeit,"said  the  nouveau,  brush 
ing  his  dusty  trousers.  "I  don't  see  it  at  all, 
you  know.  Damn  their  cheek!" 

At  this  moment  the  week- weaned  Frenchman 
shoved  up  to  Clifford. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  interfering  ?   Eh !  You 

English  pig." 

Clifford  looked  at  him  with  contempt.  "What 
do  you  want,  my  little  Nouveau? 

"Nouveau!"  spluttered  the  Gaul,    "Nouveau, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  101 

eh!"  and  he  made  a  terrific  lunge  at  the  Ameri 
can,  who  was  sent  stumbling  backward,  and 
slipping,  fell  heavily. 

The  Frenchman  gazed  around  in  triumph, 
but  his  grin  was  not  reflected  on  the  faces  of 
his  compatriots.  None  of  them  would  have 
changed  places  with  him. 

Clifford  picked  himself  up  deliberately.  His 
face  was  calm  and  mild  as  he  walked  up  to  his 
opponent,  who  hurriedly  put  himself  into  an 
attitude  of  self-defense. 

"Monsieur  Nouveau,  you  are  not  wise.  But 
some  day  you  will  learn  better,  when  you  are 
no  longer  a  nouveau,"  said  Clifford,  kindly. 
The  man  looked  puzzled,  but  kept  his  fists  up. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  punish  you  a  little," 
proceeded  Clifford,  in  even  tones,  "not  harshly, 
but  with  firmness,  for  your  good,"  he  added, 
walking  straight  up  to  the  Frenchman. 

The  latter  struck  heavily  at  Clifford's  head, 
but  he  ducked  like  a  flash,  and  catching  his 
antagonist  around  the  waist,  carried  him,  kick 
ing,  to  the  water-basin,  where  he  turned  on 
the  water,  and  shoved  the  squirming  Frenchman  . 
under.  The  scene  was  painful,  but  brief; 


102  IN  THE  QUARTER 

when  one  of  the  actors  in  it  emerged  from  under 
the  water-spout,  he  no  longer  asked  for  any 
body's  blood. 

"Go  and  dry  yourself,"  said  Clifford,  cheer 
fully;  and  walking  over  to  his  easel,  sat  down 
and  began  to  work. 

In  ten  minutes,  all  trace  of  the  row  had  dis 
appeared,  excepting  that  one  gentleman's  collar 
looked  rather  limp  and  his  hair  was  uncommonly 
sleek.  The  men  worked  steadily.  Snatches 
of  song  and  bits  of  whistling  rose  contin 
uously  from  easel  and  tabouret,  all  blend 
ing  in  a  drowsy  hum.  Gethryn  and  Elliott 
caught  now  and  then,  from  behind  them,  words 
of  wisdom  which  Clifford  was  administering  to 
the  now  subdued  Rowden. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "many  a  man  has  been 
injured  for  life  by  these  Frenchmen,  for  a  mere 
nothing.  I  had  two  brothers,"  he  paused,  "and 
my  gclden-haired  boy — "  he  ceased  again,  ap 
parently  choking  with  emotion. 

"But — I  say — you're  not  married,  you  know," 
said  the  Englishman. 

"Hush,"  sighed  Clifford,  "I— I— married  the 
daughter  of  an  African  duke.  She  was  brought 
to  the  States  by  a  slave  trader  in  infancy." 


IN  THE  BARTER  103 

"Black?"  gasped  Mr.  Rowden. 

"Very  black,  but  beautiful.  I  could  not  keep 
her.  She  left  me,  and  is  singing  with  Haver- 
ley's  Minstrels  now." 

Like  the  majority  of  his  countrymen,  Mr. 
Rowden  was  ready  to  believe  anything  he  heard 
of  social  conditions  in  the  States,  but  one  point 
required  explanation. 

"You  said  the  child  had  golden  hair." 

"Yes,  his  mother's  hair  was  red,"  sighed 
Clifford. 

Gethryn,  glancing  round,  saw  the  English 
man's  jaw  drop,  as  he  said,  "How  extraordi 
nary!"  Then  he  began  to  smile  as  if  suspecting 
a  joke.  But  Clifford's  eye  met  his  in  gentle  re 
buke. 

"C'est  1'heure!     Rest!"     Down   jumped   the 
model.  The  men  leaned  back  noisily.      Clifford 
rose,    bowed   gravely    to  the  Englishman,    and 
stepped     across     the    tabourets    to    join     his 
friends. 

Gethryn  was  cleaning  his  brushes  with  turpen 
tine  and  black  soap. 

"Going  home,  Rex?"  inquired  Clifford,  pick 
ing  up  a  brush  and  sending 'a  fine  spray  of  tur- 


104  IN  THE  QUARTER 

pentine  over  Elliott,  who  promptly  returned  the 
attention. 

"Quit  that,"  growled  Gethryn,  "don't  ruin 
those  brushes." 

"What's  the  nouveau  like,  Clifford?"  asked 
Elliott.  "We  heard  you  instructing  him  a  lit 
tle.  He  seems  to  have  the  true  Englishman's 
sense  of  humor." 

"Oh,  he's  not  a  bad  sort,"  said  Clifford. 
"Come  and  be  introduced.  I'm  half  ashamed 
of  myself  for  guying  him,  for  he's  really  a  very 
decent,  plucky  fellow,  a  bit  stiff  and  pig-headed, 
as  many  of  'em  are  at  first,  and  as  for  humor,  I 
suppose  they  know  their  own  kind,  but  they  do 
get  a  little  confused  between  fact  and  fancy  when 
they  converse  with  us." 

The  two  strolled  off  with  friendly  intent,  to 
seek  out  and  ameliorate  the  loneliness  of  Chol- 
mondeley  Rowden,  Esq. 

Gethryn  tied  up  his  brushes,  closed  his  color 
box  and,  flinging  on  his  hat,  hurried  down  the 
stairs  and  into  the  court,  nodding  to  several  stu 
dents  who  passed  with  canvas  and  paint-boxes 
tucked  under  their  arms.  He  reached  the  street, 
and,  going  through  the  Passage  Brady,  emerged 
upon  the  Boulevard  Sebastopol. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  105 

A  car  was  passing  and  he  boarded  it,  climbing 
up  to  the  imperiale.  The  only  vacant  seat  was 
between  a  great,  red-faced  butcher,  and  a  market 
woman  from  the  Halles,  and  although  the 
odors  of  raw  beef  and  fish  were  unpleasantly 
perceptible,  he  settled  himself  back  and  soon 
became  lost  in  his  own  thoughts.  The  butcher 
had  a  copy  of  the  "Petit  Journal"  and  every 
now  and  then  he  imparted  bits  of  it  across  Geth- 
ryn,  to  the  market  woman,  lingering  with  relish 
over  the  criminal  items. 

"Dites  done,"  he  cried,  "here  is  the  affair 
Rigaud!" 

Gethryn  roused  up  and  listened. 

"This  morning,  I  knew  it,"  cackled  the  wom 
an,  folding  her  fat  hands  across  her  apron.  "I 
said  to  Sophie,  'Voyons  Sophie,'  I  said — " 

"Shut  up,"  interrupted  the  butcher,  "I'm  going 
to  read." 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  said  the  woman,  address 
ing  Gethryn,  "'Voyons,  Sophie,'  said — "  but 
the  butcher  interrupted  her,  again  reading  aloud: 

"The  condemned  struggled  fearfully,  and  it 
required  the  united  efforts  of  six  gendarmes — " 

"Cochon!"  said  the  woman. 


106  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Listen,  will  you!"  cried  the  man.  "Some 
disturbance  was  caused  by  a  gamin  who  broke 
from  the  crowd  and  attacked  a  soldier.  But 
the  miserable  was  seized  and  carried  off,  scream 
ing.  Two  gold  pieces  of  20  francs  each,  fell 
from  some  hiding-place  in  his  ragged  clothes, 
and  were  taken  charge  of  by  the  police." 

The  man  paused  and  gloated  over  the  col 
umn.  "Here,"  he  cried,  "Listen — 'Even  un 
der  the  knife  the  condemned — "' 

Gethryn  rose  roughly  and,  crowding  past  the 
man,  descended  the  steps  and,  entering  the  car 
below,  sat  down  there. 

"Butor!"  roared  the  butcher.  "Cochon!  He 
trod  on  my  foot!" 

"He  is  an  English  pig!"  sneered  the  woman, 
reaching  for  the  newspaper.  "Let  me  read 
it  now,"  she  whined. 

"Hands  off;"  growled  the  man,  "I'll  read  you 
what  I  think  good." 

"But  it's  my  paper." 

"It's  mine  now — shut  up." 

The  first  thing  Gethryn  did  on  reaching  home 
was  to  write  a  note  to  his  friend,  the  Prefect 
of  the  Seine,  telling  him  how  the  child  of  Rig- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  107 

aud  came  by  the  gold  pieces.  Then  he  had  a 
quiet  smoke,  and  then  he  went  out  and  lunched 
at  the  Cafe  des  Ecoles,  frugally,  on  a  sand 
wich  and  a  glass  of  beer.  After  that  he  returned 
to  his  studio,  and  sat  down  to  his  desk  again. 
He  opened  a  small  memorandum  book  and  ex 
amined  some  columns  of  figures.  They  were 
rather  straggling,  not  very  well  kept,  but  they 
served  to  convince  him  that  his  accounts  were 
forty  francs  behind,  and  he  would  have  to  econo 
mize  a  little  for  the  next  week  or  two.  After 
this,  he  sat  and  thought  steadily.  Finally  he 
took  a  sheet  of  his  best  cream  laid  note  paper, 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  and  began  to  write. 
The  note  was  short,  but  it  took  him  a  long 
while  to  compose  it,  and  when  it  was  sealed  and 
directed  to  Miss  Ruth  Deane,  Lung'  Arno 
Guicciardini,  Florence,  Italy,  he  sat  holding  it 
in  his  hand  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  it. 

Two  o'clock  struck.  He  started  up,  and 
quickly  rolling  up  the  shades  from  the  glass 
roof,  and  pulling  out  his  easel,  began  to  squeeze 
tube  after  tube  of  color  upon  his  palette.  The 
parrot  came  down  and  tip-toed  about  the  floor, 


108  IN  THE  QUARTER 

peering  into  color  boxes,  pastel  cases,  and  pots 
of  black  soap,  with  all  the  curiosity  of  a  regula 
tion  studio  bore.  Steps  echoed  on  the  tiles  out 
side. 

Gethryn  opened  the  door  quickly.  "Ah, 
Elise!  Bon  jour!"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "Entrez 
done!" 

"Merci,  Monsieur  Gethryn,"  smiled  his  vis 
itor,  a  tall,  well-shaped  girl,  with  dark  eyes  and 
red  cheeks. 

"Ten  minutes  late,  Elise,"  said  Gethryn, 
laughing,  "my  time's  worth  a  franca  minute; 
so  prepare  to  pay  up." 

"Very  well,"  retorted  the  girl,  also  laughing, 
and  showing  her  pretty  teeth,  "but  I  have  de 
cided  to  charge  twenty  francs  an  hour  from  to 
day.  Now,  what  do  you  owe  me,  Mon 
sieur?" 

Gethryn  shook  his  brushes  at  her.  "You  are 
spoiled,  Elise, — you  used  to  pose  very  well,  and 
were  never  late." 

"And  I  pose  well  now!"  she  cried,  her 
professional  pride  piqued.  "Monsieur  Bonnat 
and  Monsieur  Constant  have  praised  me  all  this 
week.  "Voila,"  she  finished,  throwing  off  her 


IN  THE  QUARTER  109 

waist  and  letting   her   skirts    fall   in  a  circle  to 
her  feet. 

"Oh,  you  can  pose  if  you  will,"  answered 
Gethryn,  pleasantly.  "Come,  we  begin?" 

The  girl  stepped  daintily  out  of  the  pile  of  dis 
carded  clothes,  and  picking  her  way  across  the 
room  with  her  bare  feet,  sprang  lightly  upon 
the  model  stand. 

"The  same  as  last  week?"  she  asked,  smiling 
frankly. 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  he  replied,  shifting  his  easel, 
and  glancing  up  at  the  light;  "only  drop  the 
left  elbow  a  bit, — there,  that's  it;  now  a  little 
to  the  left, — the  knee, — that  will  do." 

The  girl  settled  herself  into  the  pose,  glanced 
at  the  clock,  and  then  turning  to  Gethryn  said, 
"And  I  arn  to  look  at  you,  am  I  not?" 

"Where  could  you  find  a  more  charming  ob 
ject?"  murmured  he,  sorting  his  brushes. 

"Thank  you,"  she  pouted,  stealing  a  glance  at 
him;  "than  you?" 

"Except  Mademoiselle  Elise.  There,  now 
we  begin !" 

The  rest  of  the  hour  was  disturbed  only  by 
the  sharp  rattle  of  brushes  and  the  scraping  of 
the  palette  knife. 


110  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Are  you  tired?"  asked  Gethryn,  looking  at  the 
clock;  "you  have  ten  minutes  more." 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  "continue." 

Finally  Gethryn  rose  and  stepped  back. 

"Time,"  he  said,  still  regarding  his  work. 
"Come  and  give  me  a  criticism,  Elise." 

The  girl  stretched  her  limbs,  and  then,  step 
ping  down,  trotted  over  to  Gethryn. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  demanded,  anxiously. 

Artists  often  pay  more  serious  attention  to 
the  criticisms  of  their  models  than  to  those  of  a 
brother  artist.  For,  although  models  may  be 
ignorant  of  methods — which,  however,  is  not 
always  the  case, — from  seeing  so  much  good 
work,  they  acquire  a  critical  acumen  which 
often  goes  straight  to  the  mark. 

It  was  for  one  of  these  keen  criticisms  that 
the  young  man  was  listening  now. 

"I  like  it  very  much, — very  much,"  answered 
the  girl, slowly;  "but,  you  see, — I  am  not  so  cold 
in  the  face, — am  I?" 

"Hit  it,  as  usual,"  muttered  the  artist,  biting 
his  lip;  "I've  got  more  greens  and  blues  in 
there  than  there  are  in  a  peacock's  tail.  You're 
right,"  he  added,  aloud,  "I  must  warm  that  up 


IN  THE  QUARTER  111 

a  bit, — there  in  the  shadows,  and  keep  the  high 
lights  pure  and  cold." 

Elise  nodded  seriously.  "Monsieur  Chaplain 
and  I  have  finished  our  picture,"  she  announced, 
after  a  pause. 

It  is  a  naive  way  models  have  of  appropriat 
ing  work,  in  which,  truly  enough,  they  have  no 
small  share.  They  often  speak  of  "our  pictures" 
and  "our  success." 

"How  do  you  like  it?"  asked  the  artist,  ab 
sently. 

"Good;" — she  shrugged  her  shoulders, — "but 
not  truth." 

"Right  again,"  murmured  Gethryn. 

"I  prefer    Dagnan,"  added  the   pretty  critic. 

"So  do  I,— rather!"  laughed  Gethryn. 

"Or  you,"  said  the  girl. 

"Come,  come,"  cried  the  young  man,  coloring 
with  pleasure,  "you  don't  mean  it,  Elise!" 

"I  say  what  I  mean, — always,"  she  replied, 
marching  over  to  the  pups  and  gathering  them 
into  her  arms. 

"I'm  going  to  take  a  cigarette,"  she  an 
nounced,  presently. 

"All  right,"    said    Gethryn,    squeezing    more 


112  IN  THE  QUARTER 

paint  on  his  palette,  "you'll  find  some  mild  ones 
on  the  bookcase." 

Elise  gave  the  pups  a  little  hug  and  kiss,  and 
stepped  lightly  over  to  the  bookcase.  Then  she 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  turned  and  surveyed  her 
self  in  the  mirror. 

"I'm  thinner  than  I  was  last  year.  What  do 
you  think?"  she  demanded,  studying  her  pretty 
figure  in  the  glass. 

"Perhaps  a  bit,  but  it's  all  the  better.  Those 
corsets  simply  ruined  you  as  a  model  last  year." 

Elise  looked  serious,  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  do  feel  so  much  better  without  them.  I 
won't  wear  them  again." 

"No,  you  have  a  pretty,  slender  figure,  and 
you  don't  want  them.  That's  why  I  always  get 
you  when  I  can.  I  hate  to  draw  or  paint  from 
a  girl  whose  hips  are  all  discolored  with  ugly 
red  creases  from  her  confounded  corset." 

The  girl  glanced  contentedly  at  her  supple, 
clean-limbed  figure,  and  then,  with  a  laugh, 
jumped  upon  the  model  stand. 

"It's  not  time,"  said  Gethryn,  "you  have  five 
minutes  yet." 

"Go  on,  all  the  same."  And  soon  the  rattle 
of  the  brushes  alone  broke  the  silence. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  113 

At  last  Gethryn  rose  and  backed  off  with  a  sigh. 

"How's  that,  Elise?"  he  called. 

She  sprang  down  and  stood  looking  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Now  I'm  like  myself!"  she  cried,  frankly; 
"it's  delicious!  But  hurry  and  block  in  the  legs, 
why  don't  you?" 

"Next  pose,"  said  the  young  man,  squeezing 
out  more  color. 

And  so  the  afternoon  wore  away,  and  at  six 
o'clock  Gethryn  threw  down  his  brushes  with  a 
long-drawn  breath. 

"That's  all  for  to-day.  Now,  Elise,  when 
can  you  give  me  the  next  pose?  I  don't  want  a 
week  at  a  time  on  this;  I  only  want  a  day  now 
and  then." 

The  model  went  over  to  her  dress  and  rum 
maged  about  in  the  pockets. 

"Here,"  she  said,  handing  him  a  note-book 
and  diary. 

He  selected  a  date,  and  wrote  his  name  and 
the  hour. 

"Good,"  said  the  girl,  reading  it;  and  replac 
ing  the  book,  picked  up  her  stockings  and  slowly 
began  to  dress. 


114  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Gethryn  lay  back  on  the  lounge,  thoroughly 
tired  out.  Elsie  was  humming  a  Normandy  fish 
ing  song.  When,  at  last,  she  stood  up,  and  drew 
on  her  gloves,  he  had  fallen  into  a  light  sleep. 

She  stepped  softly  over  to  the  lounge,  and 
listened  to  the  quiet  breathing  of  the  young  man. 

"How  handsome — and  how  good  he  is!"  she 
murmured,  wistfully. 

She  opened  the  door  very  gently. 

"So  different,  so  different  from  the  rest!"  she 
sighed,  and  noiselessly  went  her  way. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Although  the  sound  of  the  closing  door  was 
hardly  perceptible,  it  was  enough  to  wake 
Gethryn. 

"Elise!"  he  called,  starting  up,  "Elise!" 

But  the  girl  was  beyond  earshot. 

"And  she  went  away  without  her  money, too; 
I'll  drop  around    to-morrow   and    leave  it;    she 
may  need  it,"  he   muttered,    rubbing   his    eyes 
and  staring  at  the  door. 

It  was  dinner  time,  and  past,  but  he  had  lit 
tle  appetite. 

"I'll  just  have  something  here,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and  catching  up  his  hat  ran  down-stairs. 
In  twenty  minutes  he  was  back  with  eggs,  but 
ter,  bread,  a  pate,  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  can  of 
sardines.  The  spirit  lamp  was  lighted  and  the 
table  deftly  spread. 

"I'll  have  a  cup  of  tea  too, "he  thought,  shak 
ing  the  blue  tea  canister,  and  then,  touching  a 
115 


116  IN  THE  QUARTER 

match  to  the  well-filled  grate,  soon  had  the  kettle 
fizzling  and  spluttering  merrily. 

The  wind  had  blown  up  cold  from  the  east, 
and  the  young  man  shivered  as  he  closed  and 
fastened  the  windows.  Then  he  sat  down,  his 
chin  on  his  hands,  and  gazed  into  the  glowing 
grate.  Mrs.  Gummidge,  who  had  smelled  the 
sardines,  came  rubbing  up  against  his  legs, 
uttering  a  soft  mew  from  sheer  force  of  habit. 
She  was  not  hungry, — in  fact,  Gethryn  knew 
that  the  concierge,  whose  duty  it  was  to  feed 
all  the  creatures,  overdid  it  from  pure  kindness 
of  heart, — at — Gethryn's  expense. 

"Gummidge,  you're  stuffed  up  to  your  eyes, 
aren't  you?"  he  said. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  cat  hoisted  her 
tail,  and  began  to  march  in  narrowing  circles 
about  her  master's  chair,  making  gentle  obser 
vations  in  the  cat  language. 

Gethryn  placed  a  bit  of  sardine  on  a  fork 
and  held  it  out,  but  the  little  humbug  merely 
sniffed  at  it  daintily,  and  then  rubbed  against 
her  master's  hand. 

He  laughed  and  tossed  the  bit  of  fish  into  the 
fire,  where  it  spluttered  and  blazed  until  the 


IN  THE  QUARTER  117 

parrot   woke    up  with    a    croak  of    annoyance. 
Gethryn  watched  the  kettle  in  silence. 

Faces  he  could  never  see  among  the  coals, 
but  many  a  time  he  had  constructed  animals 
and  reptiles  from  the  embers,  and  just  now  he 
fancied  he  could  see  a  resemblance  to  a  shark 
among  the  bits  of  blazing  coal. 

He  watched  the  kettle  dreamily.  The  fire 
glowed  and  flashed  and  sank,  and  glowed  again. 
Now  he  could  distinctly  see  a  serpent  twisting 
among  the  embers.  The  clock  ticked  in  meas 
ured  unison  with  the  slow  oscillation  of  the  flame 
serpent.  The  wind  blew  hard  against  the  panes, 
and  sent  a  sudden  chill  creeping  to  his  feet. 

Bang!  Bang!  went  the  blinds.  The  hall 
way  was  full  of  strange  noises.  He  thought  he 
heard  a  step  on  the  threshold;  he  imagined 
that  his  door  creaked,  but  he  did  not  turn  around 
from  his  study  of  the  fire;  it  was  the  wind,  of 
course, 

The  sudden  hiss  of  the  kettle,  boiling  over, 
made  him  jump  and  seize  it.  As  he  turned  to 
set  it  down,  there  was  a  figure  standing  beside 
the  table.  Neither  spoke.  The  kettle  burnt  his 
hand  and  he  set  it  back  on  the  hearth;  then  he 


118  IN  THE  QUARTER 

remained  standing,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
fire. 

After  a  while  Yvonne  broke  the  silence, — 
speaking  very  low:  "Are  you  angry?" 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,"    said   the   girl   with   a   sigh. 

The  silence  was  too  strained  to  last,  and 
finally  Gethryn  said,  "Won't  you  sit  down?" 

She  did   so  silently. 

"You  see  I'm — I'm  about  to  do  a  little  cook 
ing,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  eggs. 

The  girl  spoke  again,  still  very  low. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  why  you  are  angry?" 

"I'm  not,"  began  Gethryn,  but  he  sat  down 
and  glanced  moodily  at  the  girl. 

"For  two  weeks  you  have  not  been  to  see 
me." 

"You  are  mistaken,  I  have  been—"  he  began, 
but  stopped. 

"When?" 

"Saturday." 

"And  I  was  not  at  home?" 

"And  you  were  at  home,"  he  said  grimly. 
"You  had  a  caller, — it  was  easy  to  hear  his 
voice,  so  I  did  not  knock," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  119 

She  winced,  but  said  quietly,  "Don't  you  think 
that  is  rude?" 

"Yes,"    said    Gethryn,    "I   beg  pardon." 

Presently  she  continued:  "You  and — and  he — 
are  the  only  two  men  who  have  been  in  my 
room." 

"I'm  honored,  I'm  sure,"  he  answered,   dri- 

iy- 

The  girl  threw  back  her  mackintosh,  and 
raised  her  veil. 

"I  ask  your  pardon  again,"  he  said;  "allow 
me  to  relieve  you  of  your  waterproof." 

She  rose,  suffering  him  to  aid  her  with  her 
cloak,  and  then  sat  down  and  looked  into  the  fire 
in  her  turn. 

"It  has  been  so  long, — I — I — hoped  you  would 
come." 

"Whom  were  you  with  in  the  Luxembourg 
Gardens?"  he  suddenly  broke  out. 

She  did  not  misunderstand  or  evade  the  ques 
tion,  and  Gethryn,  watching  her  face,  thought 
perhaps  she  had  expected  it.  But  she  resented 
his  tone. 

"I  was  with  a  friend,"  she  said,  simply. 

He  came  and  sat  down  opposite  her. 


120  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"It  is  not  my  business, "he  said,  sulkily;  "ex 
cuse  me." 

She  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  in  si 
lence. 

"It  was  Mr.  Pick,"  she  said  at  length. 

Gethryn  could  not  repress  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"And  that, — Jew  was  in  your  rooms?  That 
Jew!" 

"Yes."  She  sat  nervously  rolling  and  unroll 
ing  her  gloves.  "Why  do  you  care?"  she  asked, 
looking  into  the  fire. 

"I  don't." 

"You  do." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Rex,"  she  said,  very  low,  "will  you  listen?" 

"Yes,  I'll  listen." 

"He  is  a — a  friend  of  my  sister's.  He  came 
from  her  to — to — " 

"To  what!" 

"To — borrow  a  little  money.  I  distrusted 
him,  the  first  time  he  came, — the  time  you  heard 
him  in  my  room, — and  I  refused  him.  Satur 
day  he  stopped  me  in  the  street,  and,  hoping 
to  avoid  a  chance  of  meeting — you,  I  walked 
through  the  park," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  121 

"And  you  gave  him  the  money, — I  saw  you!" 

«I  did,— all  I  could  spare." 

"Is  he, — is  your  sister  married?" 

"No,"  she  whispered. 

"And  why—"  began  Gethryn,  angrily,  "Why 
does  that  scoundrel  come  to  beg  money—  He 
stopped,  for  the  girl  was  in  evident  dis 
tress. 

"Ah!  You  know  why,"  she  said  in  a  scarce 
audible  voice. 

The  young  man  was  silent. 

"And  you  will  come  again  ?"  she  asked  timidly. 

No  answer. 

She  moved  toward  the  door. 

"We  were  such  very  good  friends." 

Still  he  was  silent. 

"Is  it  au  revoir?"  she  whispered,  and  waited 
for  a  moment  on  the  threshold. 

"Then  it  is  adieu." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  huskily,  "that  is  better." 

She  trembled  a  little  and  leaned  against  the 
doorway. 

"Adieu,  mon  ami-"  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
her  voice  broke  and  ended  in  a  sob. 

Then,  all  at  once,  and  neither  knew  just  how 


122  IN  THE  QUARTER 

it  was,  she  was  lying  in  his  arms,  sobbing  pas 
sionately. 


"Rex,"  said  Yovnne,  half  an  hour  later,  as 
she  stood  before  the  mirror  arranging  her  dis 
ordered  curls,  "are  you  not  the  least  little  bit 
ashamed  of  yourself?" 

The  answer  appeared  to  be  satisfactory,  but 
the  curly  head  was  in  a  more  hopeless  state  of 
disorder  than  before,  and  at  last  the  girl  gave  a 
little  sigh,  and  exclaimed,  "There!  I'm  all 
rumpled,  but  it's  your  fault.  Will  you  oblige  me 
by  regarding  my  hair?" 

"Better  let  it  alone;  I'll  only  rumple  it  some 
more!"  he  cried,  omniously. 

"You  mustn't!     I  forbid  you!" 

"But  I  want  to!" 

"Not  now,  then — " 

"Yes — immediately !" 

"Rex— you  mustn't     O,  Rex— I— I—" 

"What?"  he  laughed,  holding  her  by  her  slen 
der  wrists. 

She  flushed  scarlet  and  struggled  to  break 
away. 

"Only  one," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  123 

"No." 

"One." 

"None." 

"Shall  I  let  you  go?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  but  catching  sight  of  his 
face,  stopped  short. 

He  dropped  her  hands  with  a  laugh  and  looked 
at  her.  Then  she  came  slowly  up  to  him,  and 
flushing  crimson,  pulled  his  head  down  to  hers. 

"Yvonne,  do  you  love  me?     Truthfully?" 

"Rex,  can  you  ask?"  Her  warm  little  head 
lay  against  his  throat,  her  heart  beat  against  his, 
her  breath  fell  upon  his  cheek,  and  her  curls 
clustered  among  his  own. 

"Yvonne — Yvonne,"  he  murmured,  "I  love 
you, — once  and  forever." 

"Once  and  forever,"  she  repeated,  in  a  half 
whisper. 

"Forever,"  he  said. 

*  *  *  * 

An  hour  later  they  were  seated  tete-a-tete  at 
Gethryn's  little  table.  She  had  not  permitted 
him  to  poach  the  eggs,  and  perhaps  they  were 
better  on  that  account. 

"Bachelor  habits  must  cease,"  she  cried,  with 


124  IN  THE  QIJARTER 

a  little  laugh,  and  Gethryn   smiled   in   doubtful 
acquiescence. 

"Do  you  like  grilled  sardines  on  toast?"  she 
asked. 

"I  seem  to,"  he  smiled,  finishing  his  fourth; 
"they  are  delicious, — yours,"  he  added. 

"Oh,  that  tea!"  she  cried,  "and  not  one  bit 
of  sugar.  What  a  hopelessly  careless  man!" 

But  Gethryn  jumped  up,  crying,  "Wait  a  mo 
ment!"  and  returned  triumphantly  with  a  huge 
mass  of  rock-candy, — the  remains  of  one  of 
Clifford's  abortive  attempts  at  "rye-and-rock." 

They  each  broke  off  enough  for  their  cups, 
and  Gethryn,  tasting  his,  declared  the  tea  "de 
licious."  Yvonne  sat,  chipping  an  egg  and 
casting  sidelong  glances  at  Gethryn,  which  were 
always  met  and  returned  with  interest 

"Yvonne,  I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret." 

"What,  Rex?" 

"I  love  you." 

"Oh!" 

"And  you?" 

"No — not  at  all!"  cried  the  girl,  shaking  her 
pretty  head.  Presently  she  gave  him  a  swift 
glance  from  beneath  her  drooping  lashes, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  125 

"Rex?" 

"What,  Yvonne?" 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret." 

"What,  Yvonne?" 

"If  you  eat  so  many  sardines — " 

"Oh!"  cried  Gethryn,  half  angrily,  but  laugh 
ing,  "you  must  pay  for  that!" 

"\Vhat?"  she  said,  innocently,  but  jumped 
up  and  kept  the  table  between  him  and  herself. 

"You  know!"  he  cried,  chasing  her  into  a 
corner. 

"We  are  two  babies,"  she  said,  very  red, 
following  him  back  to  the  table.  The  pate  was 
eaten  in  comparative  quiet. 

"Now,"  she  said,  with  great  dignity,  setting 
down  her  glass,  "behave  and  get  me  some  hot 
water." 

Gethryn  meekly  brought  it. 

"If  you  touch  me  while  I  am  washing  these 
dishes!!!" 

"But  let  me  help?" 

"No,  go  and  sit  down  instantly." 

He  fled  in  affected  terror,  and  ensconced  him 
self  upon  the  sofa.  Presently  he  inquired,  in  a 
plaintive  voice:  "Have  you  nearly  finished?" 


126  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  carefully  drying  and  ar 
ranging  the  quaint  Egyptian  tea-set,  "and  I 
won't  for  ages." 

"But  you're  not  going  to  wash  all  those 
things?  •  The  concierge  does  that." 

"No,  only  the  wine-glasses  and  the  tea-set. 
The  idea  of  trusting  such  fragile  cups  to  a  con 
cierge!  What  a  boy!" 

But  she  was  soon  ready  to  dry  her  slender 
hands,  and  caught  up  a  towel  with  a  demure 
glance  at  Gethryn. 

"Which  do  you  think  most  of, — your  dogs, 
or  me?" 

"Pups." 

"That  parrot,  or  me?" 

"Poll." 

"The  raven,  or  me?     The  cat,  or  me?" 

"Bird  and  puss." 

She  stole  over  to  his  side  and  knelt  down. 

"Rex,  if  you  ever  tire  of  me, — if  you  ever  are 
unkind,— if  you  ever  leave  me, — I  think  I  shall 
die." 

He  drew  her  to  him.  "Yvonne,"  he  whispered, 
"we  can't  always  be  together." 

"I  know  it, — I'm  foolish,"  she  faltered. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  12? 

"I  shall  not  always  be  a  student.      I  shall  not 
always  be  in  Paris,  dear  Yvonne." 
She  leaned  closer  to  him. 
"I  must  go  back  to  America  some  day." 
"And  —  and     marry?"    she   whispered,    chok- 


"No—  not  to  marry,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  my 
home." 

"I  —  I  know  it,  Rex,  but  don't  let  us  think  of 
it.  Rex,"  she  said,  some  moments  after,  "are 
you  like  all  students?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Have  you  ever  loved,  —  before,  —  a  girl,  here 
in  Paris,  —  like  me?" 

"There  are  none,  —  like  you." 

"Answer  me,  Rex." 

"No,  I  never  have,"  he  said,  truthfully. 
Presently  he  added,  "And  you,  Yvonne?" 

She  put  her  warm  little  hand  across  his  mouth. 

"Don't  ask,"  she  murmured. 

"But  I  do!"  he  cried,  struggling  to  see  her 
eyes,  "won't  you  tell  me?" 

She  hid  her  face  tight  against  his  breast. 

"You  know  I  have;  that  is  why  I  am  alone 
here,  in  Paris," 


128  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"You  loved  him?" 

"Yes,— not  as  I  love  you." 

Presently  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  all?  I  am  like  so  many — so 
many  others.  When  you  know  their  story,  you 
know  mine." 

He  leaned  down  and  kissed  her. 

"Don't  tell  me,"  he  said. 

But  she  went  on. 

"I  was  only  seventeen — I  am  nineteen  now. 
He  was  an  officer  at — at  Chartres,  where  we 
lived.  He  took  me  to  Paris." 

"And  left  you." 

"He  died  of  the  fever  in  Tonquin." 

"When?" 

"Three  weeks  ago." 

"And  you  heard?" 

"To-night." 

"Then  he  did  leave  you." 

"Don't,  Rex, — he  never  loved  me,  and  I — I 
never  really  loved  him.  I  found  that  out." 

"When  did  you  find  it  out?" 

"One  day, — you  know   when, — in  a — a  cab." 

"Dear  Yvonne,"  he  whispered,  "can't  you  go 
back  to — to  your  family?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  129 

"No,  Rex." 

"Never?" 

"I  don't  wish,  to  now.  No,  don't  ask  me 
why!  I  can't  tell  you.  I  am  like  all  the  rest — 
all  the  rest.  The  Paris  fever  is  only  cured 
by  death.  Don't  ask  me,  Rex;  I  am  content 
—indeed  I  am." 

Suddenly  a  heavy  rapping  at  the  door  caused 
Gethryn  to  spring  hurriedly  to  his  feet. 

"Rex!" 

It  was  Braith's  voice. 

"What!"  cried  Gethryn,  hoarsely. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  let  me  in?" 

"I  can't,  old  man;  I— I'm  not  just  up  for  com 
pany  to-night,"  stammered  Gethryn. 

"Company  be  damned,— are  you  ill?" 

"No." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"I'm  sorry,"  began  Gethryn,  but  was  cut  short 
by  a  gruff, 

"All  right;  good-night!"  and  Braith  went 
away. 

Yvonne  looked  inquiringly  at  him. 

"It  was  nothing,"  he    murmured,  very    pale, 


130  IN  TH£  QUARTER. 

and  then  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  crying,  "Oh, 
Yvonne — Yvonne !" 

Outside  the  storm  raged  furiously. 

Presently  she  whispered,  "Rex,  shall  I  light 
the  candle?  It  is  midnight." 

<Yes,"  he  said. 

She  slipped  away,  and  after  searching  for 
some  time,  cried,  "The  matches  are  all  gone, 
but  here  is  a  piece  of  paper, — a  letter;  do  you 
want  it?  I  can  light  it  over  the  lamp." 

She  held  up  an  envelope  to  him. 

"I  can  light  it  over  the  lamp,"  she  repeated. 

"What  is  the  address" 

"It  is  very  long,  I  can't  read  it  all,  only  'Flor 
ence,  Italy.  '* 

"Burn  it, "he  said,  in  a  voice  so  low  she  could 
scarcely  hear  him. 

Presently  she  came  over  and  knelt  down  by 
his  side.  Neither  spoke  or  moved. 

"The  candle  is  lighted,"  she  whispered,  at 
last. 

"And  the  lamp?" 

"Is  out." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Cholmondeley  Rowden  had  invited  a  select 
circle  of  friends  to  join  him  in  a  "petit  diner  a 
la  stag,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

Eight  months  of  Paris  and  the  cold,  cold 
world  had  worked  a  wonderful  change  in  Mr. 
Rowden.  For  one  thing,  he  had  shaved  his  whis 
kers  and  now  wore  only  a  mustache.  For 
another,  he  had  learned  to  like  and  respect  a 
fair  portion  of  the  French  students,  and  in  con 
sequence  was  respected  and  liked  in  return. 

He  had  had  two  fights,  in  both  of  which  he 
had  contributed  to  the  glory  of  the  British  Em 
pire,  and  prize  ring. 

He  was  a  better  sparrer  than  Clifford,  and 
was  his  equal  in  the  use  of  the  foils.  Like  Clifford, 
he  was  a  capital  banjoist,  but  he  insisted  that 
cricket  was  far  superior  to  base-ball,  and  this 
was  the  only  bone  of  contention  that  ever  fell 
between  the  two. 

Clifford  played  his  shameless  jokes   as  usual, 
131 


132  IN  THE  QUARTER 

accompanied  by  the  enthusiastic  applause  of 
Rowden.  Clifford  also  played  "The  Widow 
Nolan's  Goat"  upon  his  banjo,  accompanied  by 
the  intricate  pizzicatos  of  Rowden. 

Clifford  drank  numerous  bottles  of  double  X 
with  Rowden,  and  Rowden  consumed  uncounted 
egg- flips  with  Clifford.  They  were  inseparable; 
in  fact,  the  triumvirate,  Clifford,  Elliott  and 
Rowden,  even  went  so  far  as  to  dress  alike,  and 
mean-natured  people  hinted  that  they  had  but 
one  common  style  in  painting.  But  they  did 
not  make  the  remark  to  any  of  the  triumvirate. 
They  were  very  fond  of  each  other,  these  pre 
cious  triumvirs,  but  they  did  not  address  each 
other  by  nicknames,  and  perhaps  it  was  because 
they  respected  each  other  enough  to  refrain 
from  familiarities  that  this  alliance  lasted  as  long 
as  they  lived. 

It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  that  of  the  three 
youths,  when  they  sallied  forth  in  company, 
hatted,  clothed,  and  gloved  alike,  and  each  fol- 
..  lowed  by  a  murderous-looking  bull-dog.  The 
animals  were  of  the  brindled  variety,  and  each 
was  garnished  with  a  steel  spiked  collar.  Timid 
people  often  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the 
street  on  meeting  this  procession. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  133 

Braith  laughed  at  the  whole  performance, 
but  secretly  thought  that  a  little  of  their  spare 
energy  and  imagination  might  have  been  spent 
to  advantage  upon  their  artistic  productions. 

Braith  was  doing  splendidly.  His  last  year's 
picture  had  been  hung  on  the  line  and,  in  spite 
of  his  number  three,  he  had  received  a  third 
class  medal,  and  had  been  praised, — even  gen 
erously, — by  artists  and  critics,  including  Albert 
Wolff.  He  was  hard  at  work  on  a  large  canvas  for 
the  coming  International  Exhibition  at  Paris; 
he  had  sold  a  number  of  smaller  studies,  and 
besides  had  pictures  well  hung  in  Munich,  and 
in  more  than  one  gallery  at  home. 

At  last,  after  ten  years  of  hard  work,  struggles, 
and  disappointments,  he  began  to  enjoy  a  meas 
ure  of  success.  He  and  Gethryn  saw  little  of 
each  other  this  winter,  excepting  at  Julien's. 
That  last  visit  to  the  Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince 
was  never  mentioned  between  them.  They  were 
as  cordial  when  they  met  as  ever,  but  Braith 
did  not  visit  his  young  friend  any  more,  and 
Gethryn  never  spoke  to  him  of  Yvonne. 

"Good-bye,  old  chap!"  Braith  would  say, 
when  they  parted,  gripping  Rex's  hand  and 


134  IN  THE  QUARTER 

smiling  at  him.      But  Rex  did  not  see  Braith's 
face  as  he  walked  away. 

Braith  felt  helpless.  The  thing  he  most 
dreaded  for  Rex  had  happened;  he  believed  he 
could  see  the  end  of  it  all,  and  yet  he  could 
prevent  nothing.  If  he  should  tell  Rex  that 
he  was  being  ruined,  Rex  would  not  listen,  and — 
who  was  he  that  he  should  preach  to  another 
man  for  the  same  fault  by  which  he  had  wasted 
his  own  life?  No,  Rex  would  never  listen  to 
him,  and  he  dreaded  a  rupture  of  their  friend 
ship. 

Gethryn  had  made  his  debut  in  the  Salon 
with  a  certain  amount  of  eclat.  True,  he  had 
been  disappointed  in  his  expectations  of  a  med 
al,  but  a  first  mention  had  soothed  him  a  little, 
and,  what  was  more  important,  it  proved  to  be 
the  needed  sop  to  his  discontented  aunt.  But 
somehow  or  other  his  new  picture  did  not  pro 
gress  rapidly,  or  in  a  thoroughly  satisfactory 
manner.  In  bits  and  spots  it  showed  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  feverish  brilliancy,  yes,  even 
mature  solidity;  in  fact,  it  was  nowhere  bad, 
but  still  it  was  not  Gethryn  and  he  knew  that. 

"Confound   it!"  he    would    mutter,  standing 


//;  THE  QUARTER  135 

back  from  his  canvas;    but  even  at  suJi  times, 
he   could  hardly    help    wondering    at    his  own 
marvelous  technique. 

"Technique  be  d — ned!  Give  me  stupidity 
in  a  pupil  every  time,  rather  than  cleverness," 
Harrington  had  said  to  one  of  his  pupils,  and  the 
remark  often  rang  in  Gethryn's  ears  even  when 
his  eyes  were  most  blinded  by  his  own  wonder 
ful  facility. 

"Some  fools  would  medal  this,"  he  thought; 
"but  what  pleasure  could  a  medal  bring  me 
when  I  know  how  little  I  deserve  it?" 

Perhaps  he  was  his  own  hardest  critic,  but  it 
was  certain  that  the  old,  simple  honesty,  the 
subtle  purity,  the  almost  pathetic  effort  to  tell 
the  truth  with  paint  and  brush,  had  nearly  dis 
appeared  from  Gethryn's  canvases  during  the  last 
eight  months,  and  had  given  place  to  a  fierce 
and  almost  startling  brilliancy,  never,  perhaps, 
hitting,  but  always  threatening  some  brutal  note 
of  discord. 

Even  Elise  looked  vaguely  troubled,  though 
she  always  smiled  brightly  at  Gethryn's  criti 
cism  of  his  own  work. 

"It  is  so  very  wonderful  and  dazzling,  but — - 
but  the  color  seems  to  me— unkind." 


136  IN  THE  QUARTER 

And  he  would  groan  and  answer,  "Yesv  yes, 
Elise,  you're  right;  oh,  I  can  never  paint  anoth 
er  like  the  one  of  last  June !" 

"Ah,  that!"  she  would  cry,  "that  was  deli 
cious — "but  checking  herself,  she  would  add, 
"Courage,  let  us  try  again;  I  am  not  tired, 
indeed  I  am  not" 

Yvonne  never  came  into  the  studio  when  Geth- 
ryn  had  models,  but  often,  after  the  light  was 
dim,  and  the  models  had  taken  their  leave,  she 
would  slip  in,  and,  hanging  lightly  over  his 
shoulder,  her  cheek  against  his,  would  stand 
watching  the  touches  and  retouches  with  which 
the  young  artist  always  eked  out  the  last  rays 
of  daylight.  And  when  his  hand  drooped,  and 
she  could  hardly  distinguish  his  face  in  the 
gathering  gloom,  he  would  sigh  and  turn  to  her, 
smoothing  the  soft  hair  from  her  forehead,  say 
ing:  "Are  you  happy,  Yvonne?"  And  Yvonne 
always  answered,  "Yes,  Rex,  when  you  are." 

Then  he  would  laugh,  and  kiss  her  and  tell 
her  he  was  always  happy  with  La  Belle  He"lene, 
and  they  would  stand  in  the  gathering  twilight 
until  a  gurgle  from  the  now  well-grown  pups 
would  warn  them  that  the  hour  of  hunger  had 
arrived, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  137 

The  triumvirate,  with  Thaxton,  Rhodes, 
Carleton,  and  the  rest,  had  been  frequent  vis 
itors  all  winter  at  the  "Menagerie,"  as  Clifford's 
bad  pun  had  named  Gethryn's  apartment;  but, 
of  late,  other  social  engagements  and,  possibly, 
a  small  amount  of  work,  had  kept  them  away. 
Clifford  was  a  great  favorite  with  Yvonne. . 
Thaxton  and  Elliott  she  liked.  Rowden  she 
tormented,  and  Carleton  she  endured.  She 
captured  Clifford  by  suffering  him  to  play  his 
banjo  to  her  piano.  Rowden  liked  her  because 
she  was  pretty  and  witty,  though  he  never  got 
used  to  her  quiet  little  digs  at  his  own  respected 
and  dignified  person.  Clifford  openly  avowed 
his  attachment,  and  spent  many  golden  hours 
away  from  work,  listening  to  her  singing.  She 
had  been  taught  by  a  good  master,  and  her 
voice  was  pure  and  pliant,  although  as  yet  only 
half  developed.  The  little  concerts  they  gave 
their  friends  were  really  charming,— with 
Clifford's  banjo,  Gethryn's  guitar,  Thaxton's 
violin,  Yvonne's  voice  and  piano.  Clifford  made 
the  programmes.  They  were  profusely  illus 
trated,  and  he  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  rehears 
ing,  writing  verses,  and  re-hashing  familiar  airs 


138  IN  THE  QUARTER 

(he  called  it  "composing"),   which   would   have 
been  as  well  devoted  to  his  easel. 

In  Rowden,  Yvonne  was  delighted  to  find 
a  cultivated  musician.  Clifford  listened  to  their 
talk  of  chords  and  keys,  went  and  bought  a 
"Musical  Primer"  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  spent 
a  wretched  hour  groping  over  it,  swore  softly, 
and  closed  the  book  forever. 

But  neither  the  triumvirate  nor  the  others  had 
been  to  the  "Menagerie"  for  over  a  fortnight, 
when  Rowden,  feeling  it  incumbent  upon  him 
to  return  some  of  Gethryn's  hospitality,  issued 
very  proper  cards, — indeed  they  were  very  swell 
cards  for  the  Latin  Quarter, — for  a  "dinner," 
to  be  followed  by  a  "quiet  evening"  at  the  Bal 
Masqud  at  the  Opera. 

The  triumvirate  had  accordingly  tied  up  their 
brindled  bull-dogs,  "Spit,"  "Snap"  and  "Tug;" 
had  donned  their  white  ties  and  collars  of  awful 
altitude,  and  were  fully  prepared  to  please  and 
to  be  pleased.  Although  it  was  nominally  a 
"stag"  party,  the  triumvirate  would  as  soon  have 
cut  off  their  tender  mustaches  as  have  failed  to 
invite  Yvonne.  But  she  had  replied  to  Row- 
den's  invitation  by  a  dainty  little  note,  ending: 


IN  THE  QUARTER  139 

"and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  understand  when  I 
say  that  this  time  I  will  leave  you  gentlemen  in 
undisturbed  possession  of  the  evening,  for  I 
know  how  dearly  men  love  to  meet  and  behave 
like  bears  all  by  themselves.  But  I  shall  see 
you  all  afterward  at  the  Opera.  Au  revoir  then, 
—at  the  Bal  Masque.  Y.  D." 

The  first  sensation  to  the  young  men  was  one 
of  disappointment.  But  the  second  was  that 
Mademoiselle  Descarte's  tact  had  not  failed 
her. 

The  triumvirate  were  seated  upon  the  side 
board  swinging  their  legs.  Rowden  cast  a  sat 
isfied  glance  at  the  table  laid  for  fifteen,  and 
flicked  an  imaginary  speck  from  his  immac 
ulate  shirt  front. 

"I  think  it's  all  right,"  said  Elliott,  noticing 
his  look,  "eh,  Clifford?" 

"Is  there  enough  champagne?"  asked  that 
youth,  calculating  four  quart  bottles  to  each 
person. 

Rowden  groaned. 

"Of  course  there  is.   What  are  you  made  of?" 

"Human  flesh,"  acknowledged  the  other 
meekly. 


140  IN  THE  QUARTER 

At  eleven  the  guests  began  to  arrive,  wel 
comed  by  the  triumvirs  with  great  state  and  dig 
nity.  Rovvden,  looking  about,  missed  only  one — 
Gethryn,  and  he  entered  at  the  same  moment. 

"Just  in  time,"  said  Rowden,  and  made  the 
move  to  the  table.  As  Gethryn  sat  down,  he 
noticed  that  the  place  on  Rowden's  right  was 
vacant,  and  before  it  stood  a  huge  bouquet  of 
white  violets. 

"Too  bad  she  isn't  here,"  said  Rowden,  glanc 
ing  at  Gethryn  and  then  at  the  vacant  place. 

"That's  awfully  nice  of  you,  Rowden,"  cried 
Gethryn,  with  a  happy  smile;  "she  will  have  a 
chance  to  thank  you  to-night." 

He  leaned  over  and  touched  his  face  to  the 
flowers.  As  he  raised  his  head  again,  his  eyes 
met  Braith's. 

"Hello!"  cried  Braith,  cordially. 

Rex  did  not  notice  how  pale  he  was,  and  called 
back,  "Hello!"  with  a  feeling  of  relief  at  Braith's 
tone.  It  was  always  so.  When  they  were  apart 
for  days,  there  weighed  a  cloud  of  constraint  on 
Rex's  mind,  which  Braith's  first  greeting  always 
dispelled.  But  it  gathered  again  in  the  next 
interval.  It  rose  from  a  sullen  deposit  of  self- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  141 

reproach  down  deep  in  Gethryn's  own  heart. 
He  kept  it  covered  over;  but  he  could  not  pre 
vent  the  ghost-like  exhalations  that  gathered 
there  and  showed  where  it  was  hidden. 

Speeches  began  rather  late.  Elliott  made  one  — 
and  offered  a  toast  to  "la  plus  jolie  demoiselle  de 
Paris, "which  was  drunk  amid  great  enthusiasm, 
and  responded  to  by  Gethryn,  ending  with  a 
toast  to  Rowden.  Rowden's  response  was  stiff, 
but  most  correct.  The  same  could  not  be  said 
of  Clifford's  answer  to  the  toast,  "The  struggling 
Artist — Heaven  help  him!" 

Towards  i  A.  M.  Mr.  Clifford's  conversation 
had  become  incoherent.  But  he  continued  to 
drink  toasts.  H3  drank  Yvonne's  health  five 
times,  he  pledged  Rowden  and  Gethryn  and 
everybody  else  he  could  think  of,  down  to  Mrs. 
Gummidge  and  each  separate  kitten,  and  finally 
pledged  himself.  By  that  time  he  had  reached 
the  lachrymose  state.  Tears,  it  seemed,  did 
him  good.  A  heart-rending  sob  was  usually  the 
sign  of  reviving  intelligence. 

"Well,"  said  Gethryn,  buttoning  his  great 
coat,  "I'll  see  you  all  in  an  hour, — at  the  Op 
era." 


142  Iht  THE  QUARTER. 

Braith  was  not  coming  with  them  to  the  Ball, 
so  Rex  shook  hands  and  said  "Good-night,"  and 
calling  "Au  revoir"  to  Rowden  and  the  rest, 
ran  downstairs  three  at  a  time.  He  hurried  into 
the  court  and  after  spending  five  minutes  shout 
ing  "Cordon!"  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  the 
door,  and  into  the  Rue  Michelet.  From  there  he 
turned  into  the  Avenue  de  1'Observatoire,  and 
cutting  through  into  the  Boulevard,  came  to  his 
hotel. 

Yvonne  was  standing  before  the  mirror,  tying 
the  hood  of  a  white  silk  domino  under  her  chin. 
Hearing  Gethryn's  key  in  the  door,  she  hurriedly 
slipped  on  her  little  white  mask  and  confronted 
him. 

"Why,  who  is  this?"  cried  Gethyrn.  "Yvonne, 
come  and  tell  me  who  this  charming  stranger  is!" 

"You  see  before  you  the  Princess  Helene, 
Monsieur,"  she  said,  gravely  bending  the  little 
masked  head. 

"Oh,  in  that  case,  you  needn't  come,  Yvonne, 
as  I  have  an  engagement  with  the  Princess 
Helene  of  Troy." 

"But  you  mustn't  kiss  me!"  she  cried,  hastily 
placing  the  table  between  herself  and  Geth- 


IN  fHE  QUARTER  148 

ryn;  "you  have  not  yet    been  presented.      Oh, 
Rex!     Don't  be  so — so    idiotic;   you    spoil    my 
dress — there, — yes,  only  one,  but  don't  you  dare 
to  try — Oli,    Rex!     Now  I  am   all  in  wrinkles, 
— you— you  bear!" 

"Bears  hug — that's  a  fact,"  he  laughed.  "Come, 
are  you  ready — or  I'll  just — " 

"Don't  you  dare!"  she  cried,  whipping  off 
her  mask  and  attempting  an  indignant  frown. 
She  saw  the  big  bunch  of  white  violets  in  his 
hand,  and  made  a  diversion  by  asking  what 
those  were.  He  told  her,  and  she  declared,  de 
lightedly,  that  she  should  carry  them  with 
Rex's  roses  to  the  Ball. 

"They  shall  have  the  preference,  Monsieur," 
she  said,  teasingly.  "Oh,  Rex!  don't — please — " 
she  entreated. 

"All  right,  I  won't,"  he  said,  drawing  her 
wrap  around  her;  and  Yvonne,  replacing  the 
mask  and  gathering  up  her  fluffy  skirts,  slipped 
one  small  gloved  hand  through  his  arm,  and 
danced  down  the  stairs. 

On  the  corner  of  the  Vaugirard  and  the  Rue 
de  Medicis  one  always  finds  a  line  of  cabs,  and 
presently  they  were  bumping  and  bouncing  away 
down  the  Rue  de  Seine  to  the  river. 


144  IN  THE 


"Je  fais  ce  que  sa  fantaisie 

Veut  m'ordonner, 
Et  je  puis,  s'il  lui  faut  ma  vie 
La  lui  dormer,  " 

sang  Yvonne,  deftly  thrusting  tierce  and  quarte 
with  her  fan  to  make  Gethryn  keep  his  distance. 

"Do  you  know  it  is  snowing?"  he  said  pres 
ently,  peering  out  of  the  window,  as  the  cab 
rattled  across  the  Pont  Neuf. 

"Tant  mieux!"  cried  the  girl;  "I  shall  make 
a  snowball,  —  a  —  '  she  opened  her  blue  eyes 
impressively,  "a  very,  very  large  one,  and— 

"And?" 

"Drop  it  on  the  head  of  Mr.  Rowden,"  she 
announced,  with  cheerful  decision. 

"I'll  warn  poor  Rowden  of  your  intention," 
he  laughed,  as  the  cab  rolled  smoothly  up  the 
Avenue  de  1'  Opera,  across  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens,  and  stopped  before  the  glittering  pile 
of  the  great  Opera. 

She  sprang  lightly  to  the  curbstone  and  stood 
tapping  her  little  feet  against  the  pavement 
while  Gethryn  fumbled  about  for  his  fare. 

The  steps  of  the  Opera  and  the  Plaza  were 
covered  with  figures  in  dominoes,  blue,  red  or 


IN  THE  QUARTER  145 

black,  many    grotesque    and    bizarre   costumes, 
and  not  a  few  sober  claw-hammers.      The  great 
flare  of  yellow  light  which    bathed    and  flooded 
the  shifting,    many-colored   throng,  also   lent  a 
strangely  weird  effect  to  the  now  heavily  falling 
snow-flakes.      Carnages  and  cabs  kept    arriving 
in  countless  numbers.    It  was  half  past  two,  and 
nobody  who  wanted  to    be  considered    anybody 
thought  of  arriving  before  that  hour.      The  peo 
ple  poured  in  a  steady  stream  through   the  por 
tals.      Groups  of  English  and  American  students 
in  their  irreproachable  evening  attire,  groups  of 
French   students    in    someone    else's   doubtful 
evening  attire,  crowds  of  rustling  silken   domi 
noes,      herds     of    crackling     muslin    dominoes, 
countless    sad  faced   Pierrots,    fewer    sad-faced 
Capuchins,  now  and  then  a  slim  Mephistopheles, 
now  and    then  a  fat,  stolid    Turk,  'Arry,  Tom, 
and  Billy,  redolent  of  plum  pudding  and  Seven 
Dials,  Gontran,  Gaston  and  Achille,  savoring  of 
brasseries  and  the    Sorbonne.      And  then,  from 
the  carriages  and  nacres; — Mademoiselle  Patch 
ouli  and  good  old  Monsieur  Bonvin,    Mademoi 
selle    Nitouche    and    bad    young    Monsieur     de 
Sacrebleu,  Mademoiselle  Moineau  and  Don  Caesar 


146  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Imberbe;  and  the  pink  silk  domino  of  "La  Pat- 
aude" — mais  n'importe! 

Aliens,  Messieurs,  Mesdames,  to  the  cloak 
room — to  the  foyer!  To  the  escalier! — or  you, 
Madame  la  Comtesse,  to  your  box,  and  smooth 
out  your  crumpled  domino;  as  for  "LaPataude," 
she  is  going  to  dance  to-night. 

Gethryn,  with  Yvonne  clinging  tightly  to  his 
arm,  entered  the  great  vestibule  and  passed 
through  the  railed  lanes  to  the  broad  inclined 
aisle  which  led  to  the  floor. 

"Do  you  want  to  take  a  peep  before  we  go  to 
our  box?"  he  asked,  leading  her  to  the  door 
way. 

Yvonne's  little  heart  beat  faster  as  she  leaned 
over  and  glanced  at  the  dazzling  spectacle. 

"Come,  hurry, —let  us  go  to  the  box!"  she 
whispered,  dragging  Gethryn  after  her  up  the 
stairway. 

He  followed,  laughing  at  her  excitement,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  they  found  the  door  of  their  lodge 
and  slipped  in. 

Gethryn  lighted  a  cigarette  and  began  to 
unstrap  his  field  glasses. 

"Take  these,  Yvonne,"  he  said,  handing  them 


IN  THE  QUARTER  147 

to    her    while  he   adjusted   her  own   tiny   gold 
ones. 

Yvonne's  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
under  the  little  mask,  as  she  leaned  over 
the  velvet  railing  and  gazed  at  the  bewildering 
spectacle  below.  Great  puffs  of  hot,  perfumed 
air  bore  the  crash  of  two  orchestras  to  their 
ears,  mixed  with  the  distant  clatter  and  whirl  of 
the  dancers,  and  the  shouts  and  cries  of  ths 
maskers. 

At  the  end  of  the  floor,  screened  by  banks 
of  palms,  sat  the  musicians,  and  round 
about,  rising  tier  upon  tier,  the  glittering  boxes 
were  filled  with  the  elite  of  the  demi-monde, 
who  ogled  and  gossiped  and  sighed,  entirely 
content  with  the  material  and  social  barriers 
which  separate  those  who  dance  for  ten  francs 
from  those  who  look  on  for  a  hundred. 

But  there  were  others  there  who  should  not 
by  any  means  be  confounded  with  their  sisters 
of  the  "half-world." 

The  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  Pare  Monceau  were  possibly 
represented  among  those  muffled  and  disguised 
beauties,  who  began  the  evening  with  their  fans 


148  IN  THE  QUARTER 

so  handy  in  case  of  need.  Ah,  well, — now  they 
lay  their  fans  down  quite  out  of  reach  in  case  of 
emergency,  and  who  shall  say  if  disappointment 
lurks  under  these  dainty  dominoes,  that  there  is 
so  little  to  bring  a  blush  to  modest  cheeks,— 
alas!  few  emergencies. 

And  you  over  there — you  of  the  "American 
Colony,"  who  are  tossed  like  shuttle-cocks  in  the 
social  whirl,  you,  in  your  well-appointed  masks 
and  silks,  it  is  all  very  new  and  exciting — yes, 
but  why  should  you  come?  American  women, 
brought  up  to  think  clean  thoughts,  and  see  with 
innocent  eyes,  to  exact  a  respectful  homage 
from  men  and  enjoy  a  personal  dignity  and  in 
dependence  unknown  to  women  anywhere  else, 
— why  do  you  want  to  come  here?  Do  you  not 
know  that  the  foundations  of  that  liberty  which 
makes  you  envied  in  the  old  world  are  laid  in 
the  respect  and  confidence  of  men?  Undermine 
that,  become  wise  and  cynical,  learn  the  mean 
ing  of  doubtful  words  and  gestures  whose  signif 
icance  you  never  need  have  suspected,  meet 
men  on  the  same  ground  where  they  may  any 
day  meet  fast  women  of  the  continent,  and  fix 
at  that  moment  on  yo-ur  free  limbs  the  same 


IN  THE  QUARTER  140 

chains  which  corrupt  society  has  forged  for  the 
women  of  Europe. 

Yvonne  leaned  back  in  her  box  with  a  little 
gasp. 

"But  I  can't  make  out  any  one  at  all,"  she 
said;  "it's  all  a  great,  sparkling  sea  of  color." 

"Try  the  field  glasses, "replied  Gethryn,  giving 
them  to  her  again,  at  the  same  time  opening  her 
big  plumy  fan  and  waving  it  to  and  fro  beside 
the  flushed  cheek. 

Presently  she  cried  out,  "Oh,  look!  There 
is  Mr.  Elliott  and  Mr.  Rowden,  and  I  think  Mr. 
Clifford,  — but  I  hope  not," 

He  leaned  forward  and  swept  the  floor  with 
the  field  glass. 

"It's  Clifford,  sure  enough,"  he  muttered; 
"what  on  earth  induces  him  to  dance  in  that  set?" 

It  was  Clifford. 

At  that  moment,  he  was  addressing  Elliott 
in  pleading,  though  hazy,  phrases. 

"Come  'long,  Elliott,  don't  be  so — so  un- 
comft'ble  'n'  p'tic'lar!  W't's  use  of  be'ng 
shnobbish?"he  urged,  clinging  hilariously  to  his 
partner,  a  pigeon-toed  ballet  girl.  But  Elliott 
only  laughed  and  said; 


150  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"No;  waltzes  are  all  I  care  for.  No  quadrille 
for  me — " 

The  crash  of  the  orchestra  drowned  his  voice, 
and  Clifford,  turning  and  bowing  gravely  to  his 
partner,  and  then  to  his  vis-a-vis,  began  to  per 
form  such  antics  and  cut  such  pigeon-wings, 
that  his  pigeon-toed  partner  glared  at  him 
through  the  slits  of  her  mask  in  envious  astonish 
ment.  The  floor  was  dotted  with  numerous 
circles  of  maskers,  tenor  fifteen  deep,  all  watch 
ing  and  applauding  the  capers  of  the  hilarious 
couples  in  the  middle. 

But  Clifford's  set  soon  attracted  a  large  and 
enthusiastic  audience,  who  were  connoisseurs 
enough  to  distinguish  a  voluntary  dancer  from  a 
hired  one;  and  when  the  last  thundering  chords 
of  Offenbach's  "March  into  Hell"  scattered  the 
throng  into  a  delirious  waltz,  Clifford  reeled 
heavily  into  the  side  scenes  and  sat  down,  rather 
unexpectedly,  in  the  lap  of  Mademoiselle  Ni- 
touche,  who  had  crept  in  there  with  the  Baron 
Silberstein  for  a  nice,  quiet  view  of  a  genuine 
can-can. 

Mademoiselle  did  not  think  it  funny,  but 
the  Baron  did,  and  when  she  boxed  Clifford's 
ears  he  thought  it  funnier  still. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  151 

Rowden  and  Elliott,  who  were  laboriously 
waltzing  with  a  twin  pair  of  flat-footed  Watteau 
Shepherdesses,  immediately  ran  to  his  assist 
ance;  and  later,  with  a  plentiful  application  of 
cold  water  and  still  colder  air  restored  Mr. 
Clifford  to  his  usual  spirits. 

"You're  not  a  beauty,  you  know,"  said  Row- 
den,  looking  at  Clifford's  hair,  which  was  soaked 
into  little  points  and  curls;  "you're  certainly 
no  beauty,  but  I  think  you're  all  right  now, — 
don't  you,  Elliott?" 

"Certainly,"  laughed  the  triumvir,  producing 
a  little  silver  pocket-comb  and  presenting  it  to 
the  woe-begone  Clifford,  who  immediately 
brought  out  a  hand-glass  and  proceeded  to  con 
struct  a  "bang"  of  wonderful  seductiveness. 

In  ten  minutes  they  sallied  forth  from  the 
dressing-room,  and  wended  their  way  through 
the  throngs  of  masks  to  the  center  of  the  floor. 
They  passed  Thaxton  and  Rhodes,  who,  each 
with  a  pretty  nun  upon  his  arm,  were  trying  to 
persuade  Bulfinch  into  taking  the  third  nun,  who 
might  have  been  the  Mother  Superior  or  pos 
sibly  a  resuscitated  I4th  century  abbess. 

"No,"  he  was  saying,  while  he  blinked  pain- 


152  IN  THE  QUARTER 

fully  at  the  ci-devant  abbess,  "I   can't  go  that; 

upon    my  word,  don't  ask    me,    fellows,— I I 

can't." 

"Oh,  come,"  urged  Rhodes,  "what's  the  odds?" 

"You  can  take  her  and  I'll  take  yours,"  began 
the  wily  little  man,  but  neither  Rhodes  nor 
Thaxton  waited  to  argue  longer. 

"No  catacombs  for  me,"    growled    Bulfinch 
eyeing  the  retreating  nuns,  but  catching  sight  of 
the  triumvirate,  his  face    regained  its    bird-like 
felicity  of  expression. 

"Glad  to  see  you — indeed  I  am!  That  Co 
lossus  is  too  disinterested  in  securing  partners  for 
his  friends;  he  is,  I  assure  you.  If  you're  look 
ing  for  a  Louis  Quatorze  partner,  warranted  gen 
uine,  go  to  Rhodes." 

"Rex  ought  to  be  hereby  this  time,"  said 
Rowden;  "look  in  the  boxes  on  that  side,  and 
Clifford  and  I  will  do  the  same  on  this." 

"No  need,"  cried  Elliott,  "I  see  him  with  a 
white  domino  there  in  the  second  tier.  Look! 
He's  waving  his  hand  to  us  and  so  is  the  dom- 


"Come  along,"  said  Clifford,    pushing  his  way 
toward  the  foyer,  "I'll  find  them    in  a  moment. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  153 

Let  me  see," — a  few  minutes  later,  pausing  out 
side  a  row  of  white  and  gilt  doors, — "let  me 
see,  seventh  box,  second  tier, — here  we  are," 
he  added,  rapping  loudly. 

Yvonne  ran  and  opened  the  door. 

"Bonsoir,  Messieurs,"  she  said,  with  a  de 
mure  curtsy. 

Clifford  gallantly  kissed  the  little  glove  and 
then  shook  hands  with  Gethryn. 

"How  is  it  on  the  floor?"  asked  the  latter,  as 
Elliott  and  Rowden  came  forward  to  the  edge 
of  the  box. "I  want  to  take  Yvonne  out  for  a 
turn,  and  perhaps  a  walt2,  if  it  isn't  too  crowded." 

"Oh,  it's  pretty  rough  just  now,  but  it  will 
be  better  in  half  an  hour,"  replied  Rowden,  bar 
ricading  the  champagne  from  Clifford. 

"We  saw  you  dancing,  Mr.  Clifford,"  observed 
Yvonne,  with  a  wicked  glance  at  him  from  un 
der  her  mask. 

Clifford  blushed. 

"I — I  don't  make  an  ass  of  myself  but  once 
a  year,  you  know,"  he  said,  with  a  deprecatory 
look  at  Elliott. 

"Oh,"  murmured  the  latter,  doubtfully,  "glad 
to  hear  it." 


154  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Clifford  gazed  at  him  in  meek  reproof,  and 
then  made  a  flank  movement  upon  the  cham 
pagne,  but  was  again  neatly  foiled  by  Rowden. 

Yvonne  looked  serious,  but  presently  leaned 
over  and  filled  one  of  the  long-stemmed  gob 
lets. 

"Only  one,  Mr.  Clifford;  one  for  you  to  drink 
my  health,  but  you  must  promise  me  truthfully 
not  to  take  any  more  wine  this  evening!" 

Clifford  promised  with  great  promptness,  and 
taking  the  glass  from  her  hand  with  a  low  bow, 
sprang  recklessly  upon  the  edge  of  the  box  and 
raised  the  goblet. 

"A  la  plus  belle  demoiselle  de  Paris  !"  he  cried, 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  lungs,  and  drained 
the  goblet. 

A  shout  from  the  crowd  below  answered  his 
toast.  A  thousand  faces  were  turned  upward, 
and  people  leaned  over  their  boxes,  and  looked 
at  the  party  from  all  parts  of  the  house. 

Mademoiselle  Nitouche  turned  to  Monsieur 
de  Sacrebleu. 

"What  audacity!"  she  murmured. 

Mademoiselle  Goujon  smiled  at  the  Baron 
Silberstein. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  155 

"Tiens!"  she  cried,  "the  gayety  has  begun,  I 
hope." 

Little  Miss  Ducely  whispered  to  Lieutenant 
Faucon: 

"Those  are  American  students,"  she  sighed; 
"how  jolly  they  seem  to  be,  especially  Mr.  Clifford ! 
I  wonder  if  she  is  so  pretty!" 

Half  a  dozen  riotous  Frenchmen  in  the  box 
opposite  jumped  to  their  feet  and  waved  their 
goblets  at  Clifford. 

"A  la  plus  jolie  femme  du  monde!"  they 
roared. 

Clifford  seized  another  glass  and  filled  it. 

"She  is  here!"  he  shouted,  and  sprang  to  the 
edge  again.  But  Gethryn  pulled  him  down. 

"That's  too  dangerous,"  he  laughed;  "you 
could  easily  fall." 

"Oh,    pshaw!"    cried    Clifford,    draining     the 
glass,  and  shaking  it  at  the  opposite  box. 

Yvonne  put  her  hand  on  Gethryn's  arm. 

"Don't  let  him  have  any  more,"  she  whis 
pered. 

"Give  us  the  goblet!"  yelled  the  Frenchmen. 

"Le  voila!"  shouted  Clifford,  and  stepping 
back,  hurled  the  glass  with  all  his  strength  across 


156  IN  THE  QUARTER 

the  glittering  gulf.  It  fell  with  a  crash  in  the 
box  it  was  aimed  at,  and  a  howl  cf  applause 
went  up  from  the  floor. 

Yvonne  laughed  nervously,  but  coming  to  the 
edge  of  the  box  buried  her  mask  in  her  bouquet 
and  looked  down. 

4'A  rose!  A  rose!"  cried  the  maskers  below; 
"a  rose  from  the  most  charming  demoiselle  in 
Paris!" 

She  half  turned  to  Gethryn,  but  suddenly 
stepping  forward,  seized  a  handful  of  flowers  from 
the  middle  of  the  bouquet  and  flung  them  into 
the  crowd. 

There  was  a  shout  and  a  scramble,  and  then 
she  tore  the  bouquet  end  from  end,  sending  a 
shower  of  white  buds  into  the  throng. 

"None  for  me?"  sighed  Clifford,  watching  the 
fast-dwindling  bouquet. 

She  laughed  brightly  as  she  tossed  the  last 
handful  below,  and  then  turned  and  leaned  over 
Gethryn's  chair. 

"You  destructive  little  wretch !"  he  laughed, 
"this  is  not  the  season  for  the  Battle  of  Flowers. 
But  white  roses  mean  nothing,  so  I'm  not  jeal- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  157 

"Ah,  mon  ami,  I  saved  the  red  rose  for  you," 
she  whispered;  and  fastened  it  upon  his  breast. 

And  at  his  whispered  answer  her  cheeks  flushed 
crimson  under  the  white  mask.  But  she  sprang 
up  laughing. 

"I  would  so  like  to  go  onto  the  floor,"  she 
cried,  pulling  him  to  his  feet,  and  coaxing  him 
with  a  simply  irresistible  look;  "don't  you  think 
we  might, — just  for  a  minute,  Mr.  Rowden?" 
she  pleaded.  "I  don't  mind  a  crowd, — indeed  I 
don't,  and  I  am  masked  so  perfectly." 

"What's  the  harm,  Rex?"  said  Rowdan;  "she 
is  well  masked." 

"And  when  we  return  it  will  be  time  for  sup 
per,  won't  it?" 

"Yes,    I  should  think  so!"  murmured  Clifford. 

"Where  do  we  go  then?" 

"Maison  Doree." 

"Come  along,  then,  Mademoiselle  Destruc- 
tiveness!"  cried  Gethryn,  tossing  his  mask  and 
field  glass  onto  a  chair,  where  they  were  appro 
priated  by  Clifford,  who  spent  the  next  half 
hour  in  staring  across  at  good  old  Colonel  Todd- 
lum  and  his  frisky  companion, — an  attention 
which  drove  the  poor  old  gentleman  almost  fran- 


158  IN  THE  QUARTER 

tic  with  suspicion,  for  he  was  a  married  man, 
bless  his  soul! — and  a  pewholder  in  the  Amer 
ican  Church. 

"My  love,"  said  the  frisky  one,  "who  is  the 
gentleman  in  the  black  mask  who  stares?" 

"I  don't  know,"  muttered  the  dear  old  man, 
in  a  cold  sweat,  "I  don't  know,  but  I  wish  I 
did." 

And  the  frisky  one  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
smiled  at  the  mask. 

"What  are  they  looking  at  .'"whispered  Yvonne, 
as  she  tripped  along,  holding  very  tightly  to 
Gethryn's  arm. 

"Only  a  quadrille, — 'LaPataude'  is  dancing. 
Do  you  want  to  see  it?" 

She  nodded,  and  they  approached  the  circle 
in  the  middle  of  which  'LaPataude'  and  'Grille 
d'Egout'  were  holding  high  carnival.  At  every 
ostentatious  display  of  hosiery  the  crowd 
roared. 

"Brava!  Bis!"  cried  an  absinthe-soaked  old 
gentleman;  "vive  La  Pataude!" 

For  answer  the  lady  dexterously  raised  his  hat 
from  his  head  with  the  point  of  her  satin  slip 
per. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  159 

The  crowd  roared  again.  "Brava!  Brava,  La 
Pataude!" 

Yvonne  turned  away. 

"I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  find  it  amusing," 
she  said,  faintly. 

Gethryn's  hand  closed  on  hers. 

"Nor  I,"  he  said. 

"Bat  you  and  your  friends  used  to  go  to  the 
students'  ball  at  'Bullier's,'"  she  began,  a  lit 
tle  reproachfully. 

"Only  as  Nouveaux,  and  then,  as  a  rule,  the 
high  jinks  are  pretty  genuine  there — at  least,  with 
the  students.  We  used  to  go  to  keep  cool  in 
spring,  and  hear  the  music;  to  keep  warm  in 
winter;  and  amuse  ourselves  at  Carnival 
time." 

"But— Mr.  Clifford  knows  all  the  girls  at 
'Bullier's.'  Do — do  you?" 

"Some." 

"How  many?"  she  said,  pettishly. 

"None,  —  now." 

A  pause.  Yvonne  was  looking  down. 

"See  hare,  little  goose,  I  never  cared  abDut 
any  of  that  crowd,  and  I  haven't  been  to  the 
Bullier  since— since  last  May." 


1GO  IN  THE  QUARTER 

She  turned  her  face  up  to  his;  tears  were 
stealing  down  from  under  her  mask. 

"Why,  Yvonne!"  he  began,  but  she  clung  to 
his  shoulder,  as  the  orchestra  broke  into  a  waltz. 

"Don't  speak  to  me,  Rex — but  dance!  Dance!" 

They  danced  until  the  last  bar  of  music  ceased 
with  a  thundering  crash. 

"Tired?"  he  asked,  still  holding  her. 

She  smiled  breathlessly  and  stepped  back, 
but  stopped  short,  with  a  little  cry. 

"Oh!  I'm  caught — there,  on  your  coat!" 

He  leaned  over  her  to  detach  the  shred  of  silk. 

"Where  is  it?    Oh!     Here!" 

And  they  both  laughed  and  looked  at  each 
other,  for  she  had  been  held  by  the  little  golden 
clasp,  the  fieur-de  lis. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "it  will  always  draw  me 
to  you." 

But  a  shadow  fell  on  her  fair  face,  and  she 
sighed  as  she  gently  took  his  arm. 

When  they  entered  their  box,  Clifford  was 
still  tormenting  the  poor  Colonel. 

"Old  dog  thinks  I  know  him,"  he  grinned,  as 
Yvonne  and  Rex  came  in.  Yvonne  flung  off 
her  mask  and  began  to  fan  herself. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  101 

"Time  for  supper,  you  know,"  suggested  Clif 
ford. 

Yvonne  lay  back  in  her  chair,  smiling  and 
slowly  waving  the  great  plumes  to  and  fro. 

"Who  are  those  people  in  the  next  box?"  she 
asked  him.  "They  do  make  such  a  noise." 

"There  are  only  two,  both  masked." 

"But  they  have  unmasked  now.  There  are 
their  velvets  on  the  edge  of  the  box.  I'm  go 
ing  to  take  a  peep,"  she  whispered,  rising  and 
leaning  across  the  railing. 

"Don't;  I  wouldn't,"— began  Gethryn,  but  he 
was  to  late. 

Yvonne  leaned  across  the  gilded  cornice,  and 
instantly  fell  back  in  her  chair,  deathly  pale. 

"My  God!    Are  you  ill,  Yvonne?" 

"Oh,  Rex,  Rex,  take  me  away — home — " 

Then  came  a  loud  hammering  on  the  box  door. 
A  harsh,  strident  voice  called,  "Yvonne! 
Yvonne!" 

Clifford  thoughtlessly  threw  it  open,  and  a 
woman  in  evening  dress,  very  decolletee,  swept 
by  him  into  the  box,  with  a  waft  of  sickly  scented 
air. 

Yvonne  leaned  heavily  on  Gethryn's  shoul 
der;  the  woman  stopped  in  front  of  them. 


162  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Ah!  here  you  are,  then!" 

Yvonne's  face  was  ghastly 

"Nina,"  she  whispered,  "why  did  you  come?" 

"Because  I  wanted  to  make  you  a  little  sur 
prise,"  sneered  the  woman;  "a  pleasant  little 
surprise.  \Ve  love  each  other  enough,  I  hope." 
She  stamped  her  foot. 

"Go,"  said  Yvonne,  looking  half  dead. 

"Go!"  mimicked  the  other.  "But  certainly! 
Only  first  you  must  introduce  me  to  these  gen 
tlemen  who  are  so  kind  to  you." 

"You  will  leave  the  box,"  said  Gethryn,  in  a 
low  voice,  holding  open  the  door. 

The  woman  turned  on  him.  She  was  evi 
dently  in  a  prostitute's  tantrum  of  malicious 
deviltry.  Presently  she  would  begin  to  lash  her 
self  into  a  wild  rage. 

"Ah!  this  is  the  one!"  she  sneered,  and  rais 
ing  her  voice, she  called,  "Mannie,  Mannie,  come 
in  here,  quick!" 

A  sidling  step  approached  from  the  next  box, 
and  the  face  of  Mr.  Emanuel  Pick  appeared  at 
the  door. 

"This  is  the  one,"  cried  the  woman,  shrilly. 
"Isn't  he  pretty?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  163 

Mr.  Pick  looked  insolently  at  Gethryn  and 
opened  his  mouth,  but  he  did  not  say  anything, 
for  Rex  took  him  by  the  throat  and  kicked  him 
headlong  into  his  own  box.  Then  he  locked  the 
door,  and  taking  out  the  key,  returned  and  pre 
sented  it  to  the  woman. 

"Follow  him!"  he  said,  and  quietly,  but  for 
cibly,  urged  her  toward  the  lobby. 

"Mannie!  Mannie !"  she  shrieked,  in  a  voice 
choked  by  rage  and  dissipation,  "come  and  kill 
him!  He's  insulting  me!" 

Getting  no  response,  she  began  to  pour  forth 
shriek  upon  shriek,  mingled  with  oaths  and  rav 
ings.  "I  shall  speak  to  my  sister!  Who  dares 
prevent  me  from  speaking  to  my  sister !  You, — " 
she  glared  at  Yvonne  and  ground  her  teeth. 
"You,  the  good  one.  You!  the  mother's  pet! 
Ran  away  from  home!  Took  up  with  an  En 
glish  hog!" 

Yvonne  sprang  to  her  feet  again. 

"Leave  the  box,"  she  gasped. 

"Ha!  ha!  Maisoui!  leave  the  box!  and  let 
her  dance  while  her  mother  lies  dying!" 

Yvonne  ^ave  a  cry. 

"Ah!      Ah!"  said    her  sister,  suddenly  speak- 


164  IN  THE  QUARTER 

ing  very  slowly,  nodding  at  every  word.  "Ah! 
Ah !  go  back  to  your  room,  and  see  what  is  there, 
—in  the  room  of  your  lover; — the  little  letter 
from  Vernon.  She  wants  you.  She  wants  you. 
That  is  because  you  are  so  good.  She  does  not 
want  me.  No,  it  is  you  who  must  come  to  see 
her  die.  I — I  dance  at  the  Carnival!" 

Then,  suddenly  turning  on  Gethryn  with  a 
devilish  grin,  "You  !  tell  your  mistress  her  mother 
is  dying!"  She  laughed  hatefully,  but  preserved 
her  pretense  of  calm,  walked  to  the  door,  and 
as  she  reached  it  swung  round  and  made  an 
insulting  gesture  to  Gethryn. 

"You!      I  will  remember  you!" 

The  door  slammed,  and  a  key  rattled  in  the 
next  box. 

Clinging  to  Gethryn,  Yvonne  passed  down 
the  long  corridor  to  the  vestibule,  while  Elliott 
and  Rowden  silently  gathered  up  the  masks  and 
opera  glasses.  Clifford  stood  holding  her 
crushed  and  splintered  fan.  He  looked  at  Elliott, 
who  looked  gloomily  back  at  him,  asBraith  en 
tered  hurriedly. 

"What's  the  matter?  I  saw  something  was 
wrong  from  the  floor.  Rex  ill?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  165 

"111  at  ease,"  said  Clifford,  grimly.  "There's 
a  sister  turned  up.  A  devil  of  a  sister." 

Braith  spoke  very  low.     "Yvonne's  sister?" 

"Yes,  a  she-devil." 

"Did  you  hear  her  name?" 

"Name's  Nina." 

Braith  went  quietly  out  again.  Passing 
blindly  down  the  lobby,  he  ran  against  Mr. 
Bulfinch.  Mr.  Bulfinch  was  in  charge  of  a  po 
liceman. 

"Hello,  Braith!"  he  called,  hilariously. 

Braith  was  going  on  with  a  curt  nod,  when 
the  other  man  added: 

"I've  taken  it  out  of  Pick,"  and  he  stopped 
short.  "I  got  my  two  hundred  francs'  worth,"  the 
artist  of  the  "London  Mirror"  proceeded,  "and 
now  I  shall  feel  bound  to  return  you  yours, — 
the  first  time  I  have  it,"  he  ended,  vaguely. 

Braith  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Are  you  under  arrest?" 

"Yes,  I  am.  He  couldn't  help  it,"  smiling 
agreeably  at  the  Sergeant  de  Ville.  "He  saw  me 
hit  him." 

The  policeman  looked  stolid. 

"But  what  excuse?"  began  Braith. 

"Oh!    none!     Pick    just    passed    me,  and    I 


166  IN  THE  QUARTER 

felt  as  if  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  so  I 
pitched  in." 

"Well,  and  now  you're  in  for  fine  and  impris 
onment." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Bulfinch,   beaming. 

"Have  you  any  money  with  you?" 

"No,  unless  I  have  some  in  your  pocket?"  said 
the  little  man,  with  a  mixture  of  embarrassment 
and  bravado  that  touched  Braith,  who  saw  what 
the  confession  cost  him. 

"Lots!"  said  he,  cordially.  "But  first  let  us 
try  what  we  can  do  with  Bobby.  Do  you  ever 
drink  a  petit  verre,  Monsieur  le  Sergeant  de 

Ville?"with  a  winning  smile  to  the  wooden  po 
liceman. 

The  latter  looked  at  the  floor. 

"No,"  said  he. 

"Never?" 

"Never!" 

''Well,  I  was  only  thinking  that  over  on  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  Taitbout  one  finds  excellent 
wine  at  twenty  francs." 

The  officer  now  gazed  dreamily  at  the  ceiling. 

"Mine  costs  forty,"  he  said. 

And  a  few  minutes  later  the  faithful  fellow 
stood  in  front  of  the  Opera  house  quite  alone. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  cab  rolled  slowly  over  the  Pont  au  Change, 
and  the  wretched  horse  fell  into  a  walk  as  he 
painfully  toiled  up  the  hill  of  St.  Michel.  Yvonne 
lay  back  in  the  corner;  covered  with  all  her  own 
wraps  and  Gethryn's  overcoat,  she  shivered. 

"Poor  little  Yvonne!"  was  all   he   said,  as  he 
leaned  over    now  and   then  to    draw   the    cloak 
more  closely  around  her.     Not  a  sound  but  the 
rumble  of  the  wheels  and   the  wheezing  of   the 
old  horse  broke   the  silence.      The  streets  were 
white  and  deserted.      A   few    ragged    flakes   fell 
from  the  black  vault  above,  or  were  shaken  down 
from  the  crusted  branches. 

The  cab  stopped  with  a  jolt.  Yvonne  was 
trembling  as  Rex  lifted  her  to  the  ground,  and 
he  hurried  her  into  the  house,  up  the  black 
stairway  and  into  their  cold  room. 

When  he  had  a  fire   blazing   in  the   grate,  he 
looked  around.      She  was  kneeling  on  the  floor 
beside  a  candle  she  had  lighted,    and   her  tears 
167 


168  IN  THE  QUARTER 

were  pouring  down  upon  the  page  of  an  open 
letter.  Rex  stepped  over  and  touched  her. 

"Come  to  the  fire."  He  raised  her  gently, 
but  she  could  not  stand,  and  he  carried  her  in 
his  arms  to  the  great  soft  chair  before  the  grate. 
Then  he  knelt  down  and  warmed  her  icy 
hands  in  his  own.  After  a  while  he  moved  her 
chair  back,  and  drawing  off  her  dainty  white 
slippers,  wrapped  her  feet  in  the  fur  that  lay 
heaped  on  the  hearth.  Then  he  unfastened  the 
cloak  and  the  domino,  and  rolling  her  gloves 
from  elbow  to  wrist,  slipped  them  over  the 
helpless  little  hands.  The  firelight  glanced  and 
glowed  on  her  throat  and  bosom,  tingeing  their 
marble  with  opalescent  lights,  and  searching 
the  deep  shadows  under  her  long  lashes.  It 
reached  her  hair,  touching  here  and  there  a  soft, 
dark  wave,  and  falling  aslant  the  knots  of  rib 
bon  on  her  bare  shoulders,  tipped  them  with 
points  of  white  fire. 

"Is  it  so  bad,  dearest  Yvonne?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  must  go?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"When?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  169 

"At  daylight." 

Gethryn  rose  and  went  toward  the  door;  he 
hesitated,  came  back  and  kissed  her  once  on  the 
forehead.  When  the  door  closed  on  him  she 
wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  hiding  her 
head  in  her  arms.  He  found  her  lying  so  when 
he  returned,  and,  throwing  down  her  traveling 
bag  and  rugs,  he  knelt  and  took  her  to  his  breast, 
kissing  her  again  and  again  on  the  forehead.  At 
last  he  had  to  speak. 

"I  have  packed  the  things  you  will  need  most, 
and  will  send  the  rest.  It  is  getting  light, dear 
est;  you  have  to  change  your  dress,  you  know." 

She  roused  herself  and  sat  up,  looking  deso 
lately  about  her. 

"Forever!"  she  whispered. 

"No!  No!"  cried  Gethryn. 

"Ah!  oui,  mon  ami!" 

Gethryn  went  and  stood  by  the  window.  The 
bedroom  door  was  closed. 

Day  was  breaking.  He  opened  the  window 
and  looked  into  the  white  street.  Lamps  burned 
down  there  with  a  sickly  yellow;  a  faint  light 
showed  behind  the  barred  windows  of  the  old 
gray  barracks.  One  or  two  stiff  sparrows 


170  IN  THE  QUARTER 

hopped  silently  about  the  gutters,  flying  up 
hurriedly  when  the  frost-covered  sentinel 
stamped  his  boots  before  the  barracks  gate. 
Now  and  then  a  half-starved  workman  limped 
past,  his  sabots  echoing  on  the  frozen  pavement. 
A  hooded  and  caped  policeman,  a  red-faced  cab 
man  stamping  beside  his  sleepy  horse, — the 
street  was  empty  but  for  them. 

It  grew  lighter.  The  top  of  St.  Sulpice 
burned  crimson.  Far  off  a  bugle  fluttered,  and 
then  came  the  tramp  of  the  morning  guard 
mount.  They  came  stumbling  across  the  stony 
court  and  leaned  on  their  rifles  while  one  of  them 
presented  arms  and  received  the  word  from  the 
sentry.  Little  by  little  people  began  to  creep 
up  and  down  the  sidewalks,  and  the  noise  of 
wooden  shutters  announced  another  day  of  toil 
begun.  The  point  of  the  Luxembourg  Palace 
struck  fire  as  the  ghastly  gas-lamps  faded  and 
went  out.  Suddenly  the  great  bell  of  St.  Sul 
pice  clashed  the  hour, — Eight  o'clock! 

Again  a  bugle  blew  sharply  from  the  barracks, 
and  a  troop  of  cavalry  danced  and  pawed  through 
the  gate,  clattering  away  down  the  Rue  de  Seine. 

Gethryn  shut  the  window  and  turned  into  the 


IN  THE  QUARTER  171 

room.     Yvonne  stood  before  the  dying  embers. 

He  went  to  her,  almost  timidly.    Neither  spoke. 

At  last  she  took  up  her  satchel  and  wrap. 
"It  is  time,"  she  whispered.   "Let  us  go." 
He  clasped  her  once  in  his  arms;  she  laid  her 

cheek  against  his. 


The  train  left  Montparnasse  station  at  nine. 
There  was  hardly  any  one  in  the  waiting-room. 
The  Guard  flung  back  the  grating. 

"Vernon,  par  Chartres?"  asked  Gethryn. 

"Vernon — Moulins — Chartres — direct!"  shout 
ed  the  Guard,  and  stamped  off  down  the  plat 
form. 

Gethryn  showed  his  ticket  which  admitted 
him  to  the  platform,  and  they  walked  slowly 
down  the  line  of  dismal-looking  cars. 

"This  one?"  and  he  opened  a  door. 

She  stood  watching  the  hissing  and  panting 
engine,  while  Gethryn  climbed  in  and  placed 
her  bags  and  rugs  in  a  window  corner.  The  car 
smelt  damp  and  musty,  and  he  stepped  out  with 
a  choking  sensation  in  his  chest.  A  train  man 
carne  along,  closing  doors  with  a  slam. 


172  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"All  aboard — ladies — gentlemen  —  voyageurs?" 
he  growled,  as  if  to  himself  or  some  familiar 
spirit,  and  jerked  a  sullen  clang  from  the  station 
bell.  The  engine  panted  impatiently. 

Rex  struggled  against  the  constraint  that 
seemed  to  be  dividing  them. 

"Yvonne,  you  will  write?" 

"I  don't  know!" 

"You  don't  know!     Yvonne!" 

"I  know  nothing  except  that  I  am  wicked, 
and  my  mother  is  dying!"  She  said  it  in  low, 
even  tones,  looking  away  from  him. 

The  gong  struck  again,  with  a  startling  clash. 

The  engine  shrieked;  a  cloud  of  steam  rose 
from  under  the  wheels.  Rex  hurried  her  into 
the  carriage;  there  was  no  one  else  there.  Sud 
denly  she  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

"Oh!  I  love  you!  I  love  you!  One  kiss, 
no;  no;  on  the  lips.  Good-bye,  my  own  Rex!" 

"You  will  come  again?" he  said,  crushing  her 
to  him. 

Her  eyes  looked  into  his. 

"I  will  come.  I  love  you!  Be  true  to  me, 
Rex.  I  will  come  back." 

Her  lover  could    not    speak.      Doors    slam- 


IN  THE  QUARTER.  173 

ming,  and  an  impatient  voice— "Descendez 
done,  M'sieu'!"— roused  him;  he  sprang  from 
the  carnage,  and  the  train  rolled  slowly  out  of 
the  smoke-filled  station. 

How  heavy  the  smoke   was!     Gethryn   could 
hardly  breathe— hardly  see.      He  walked  away, 
and  out  into  the  street.    The  city  was  only  half 
awake  even  yet.      After,  as   it    seemed,  a    long 
time,  he  found  himself  looking  at  a  clock  which 
said  a  quarter  past    ten.     The  winter    sunshine 
slanted  now   on    roof    and    pane,    flooding   the 
western  side  of  the  shabby   boulevard,  dappling 
the  snow  with  yellow  patches.    He  had  stopped 
in  the  chilly  shadow    of    a    gateway,     and   was 
looking  vacantly  about.      He  saw   the  sunshine 
across  the  street,  and    shivered  where    he   was, 
and  yet    he     did   not    leave   the    shadow.      He 
stood  and    watched    the    sparrows  taking  bold 
little  baths  in  the  puddles  of  melted  snow  water. 
They  seemed  to  enjoy  the  sunshine,  but   it  was 
cold  in  the  shade,  cold  and  damp— and  the  air 
was   hard  to  breathe.      A  policeman  sauntered 
by,  and  eyed    him    curiously.      Rex's  face    was 
haggard  and  pinched.   Why  had  he  stood  there 
in  the  cold  for  half  an  hour,  without  ever  chang 
ing  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other? 


174  IN  THE  QUARTER 

The  policeman  spoke  at  last,  civilly: 

"Monsieur!" 

Gethryn  turned  his  head. 

"Is  it  that  Monsieur  seeks  the  train?"  he 
asked,  saluting. 

Rex  looked  up.  He  had  wandered  back  to 
the  station.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  answered 
with  the  politeness  dear  to  French  officials. 

"Merci,  Monsieur!"  It  made  him  cough  to 
speak,  and  he  moved  on  slowly. 

Gethryn  would  not  go  home  yet.  He  wanted 
to  be  where  there  was  plenty  of  cool  air,  and 
yet  he  shivered.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  which 
endad  in  a  pain.  How  cold  the  air  must  be — 
to  pain  the  chest  like  that!  And  yet,  there 
were  women  wheeling  hand-carts  full  of  yellow 
crocus  buds  about.  He  stopped,  and  bought 
some  for  Yvonne. 

"She  will  like  them,"  he  thought.  "Ah!"— he 
turned  away,  leaving  flowers  and  money.  The 
old  flower-woman  crossed  herself. 

No— he  would  not  go  home  just  yet.  The 
sun  shone  brightly;  men  passed,  carrying 
their  overcoats  on  their  arms;  a  steam  was  ris 
ing  from  the  pavements  in  the  Square. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  175 

There  was  a  crowd  on  the  Pont  au  Change. 
He  did  not  see  any  face  distinctly,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  a  great  many  people,  leaning 
over  the  parapets,  looking  down  the  river.  He 
stopped  and  looked  over  too.  The  sun  glared 
on  the  foul  water  eddying  in  and  out  among  the 
piles  and  barges.  Some  men  were  rowing  in  a 
boat,  furiously.  Another  boat  followed  close. 
A  voice  close  by  Gethryn  cried,  angrily: 

"Dieu!   who  are  you    shoving?" 

Rex  moved  aside;  as  he  did  so  a  gamin 
crowded  quickly  forward  and  craned  over  the 
edge,  shouting,  "Vive  le  cadavre!" 

"Chut!"  said  another  voice. 

"Vive  la  Mort !  Vive  la  Morgue!"  screamed 
the  wretched  little  creature. 

A  policeman  boxed  his  ears  and  pulled  him 
back.  The  crowd  laughed.  The  voice  that  had 
cried,  "Chut!"  said  lower,  "What  a  little  devil, 
that  Rigaud!" 

Rex  moved  slowly  on. 

In  the  Court  of  the  Louvre  were  people 
enough  and  to  spare.  Some  of  them  bowed  to 
him;  several  called  him  to  turn  and  join  them. 
He  lifted  his  hat  to  them  all,  as  if  he  knew 


176  IN  THE  QUARTER 

them,  but  passed  on  without  recognizing  a  soul. 
The  broad  pavements  were  warm  and  wet,  but 
the  air  must  have  been  sharp  to  hurt  his  chest 
so.  The  great  pigeons  of  the  Louvre  brushed 
by  him.  It  seemed  as  if  he  felt  the  beat  of  their 
wings  on  his  brains.  A  shabby-looking  fellow 
asked  him  for  a  sou — and,  taking  the  coin  Rex 
gave  him,  shuffled  off  in  a  hurry;  a  dog  fol 
lowed  him,  he  stooped  and  patted  it;  a  horse 
fell,  he  went  into  the  street  and  helped  to  raise 
it.  He  said  to  a  man  standing  by,  that  the 
harness  was  too  heavy, — :and  the  man,  looking 
after  him  as  he  walked  away,  told  a  friend  that 
there  was  another  crazy  foreigner. 

Soon  after  this  he  found  himself  on  the  Quai 
again,  and  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  dome 
of  the  Invalides.  He  decided  to  go  home.  He 
wanted  to  get  warm,  and  yet  it  seemed  as  if  the 
air  of  a  room  would  stifle  him.  However,  once 
more  he  crossed  the  Seine,  and  as  he  turned  in 
at  his  own  gate  he  met  Clifford,  who  said  some 
thing,  but  Rex  pushed  past  without  trying  to 
understand  what  it  was. 

He  climbed  the  dreary  old  stairs  and  came  to 
his  silent  studio.  He  sat  down  by  the  fireless 


IN  THE  QUARTER  177 

hearth  and  gazed  at  along,  slender  glove  among 
the  ashes.  At  his  feet  her  little  white  satin 
slippers  lay  half  hidden  in  the  long  white  fur 
of  the  rug. 

He  felt  giddy  and  weak,  and  that  hard  pain  in 
his  chest  left  him  no  peace.  He  rose  and  went 
into  the  bedroom.  Her  ball  dress  lay  where 
she  had  thrown  it.  He  flung  himself  on  the 
bed  and  buried  his  face  in  the  rustling  silk.  A 
faint  odor  of  violets  pervaded  it.  He  thought 
of  the  bouquet  that  had  been  placed  for  her  at 
the  dinner.  Then  the  flowers  reminded  him  of 
last  summer.  He  lived  over  again  their  gay  life,  — 
their  excursions  to  Meudon,  Sceaux,  Versailles, — 
with  its  warm  meadows,  and  cool,  dark  forests; 
Fontainebleau,  where  they  lunched  under  the 
trees;  St.  Cloud—  Oh  !  he  remembered  their  little 
quarrel  there,  and  how  they  made  it  up  on  the 
boat  at  Suresnes  afterward. 

He  rose  excitedly,  and  went  back  into  the 
studio;  his  cheeks  were  aflame,  and  his  breath 
came  sharp  and  hard.  In  a  corner,  with  its 
face  to  the  wall,  stood  an  old,  unfinished  por 
trait  of  Yvonne,  begun  after  one  of  those  idyllic 
summer  days. 


178  IN  THE  QUARTER 

When  Braith  walked  in,  after  three  times 
knocking,  he  found  Gethryn  painting  feverishly 
by  the  last  glimmer  of  daylight,  on  this  por 
trait.  The  room  was  full  of  shadows,  and  while 
they  spoke  it  grew  quite  dark. 

That  night  Braith  sat  by  his  side  and  listened 
to  his  incoherent  talk,  and  Dr.  White  came  and 
said  "Pleuro-pneumonia"  was  what  ailed  him. 
Braith  had  his  traps  fetched  from  his  own  place, 
and  settled  down  to  nurse  him. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Carnival  was  over.  February  had  passed, 
like  January,  for  most  of  the  fellows,  in  a  bad 
dream  of  unpaid  bills.  March  was  going  in 
much  the  same  way.  This  is  the  best  account 
Clifford,  Elliott  and  Rowden  could  have  given 
of  it.  Thaxton  and  Rhodes  were  working. 
Carleton  was  engaged  to  a  new  pretty  girl, — 
the  sixth  or  seventh. 

Satan  found  the  time  passing  delightfully. 
There  was  no  one  at  present  to  restrain  him 
when  he  worried  Mrs.  Gummidge.  The  tabby 
daily  grew  thinner  and  sadder- eyed.  The  par 
rot  grew  daily  more  blase.  He  sneered  more 
and  more  bitterly,  and  his  eyelid,  when  closed, 
struck  a  chill  to  the  soul  of  the  raven. 

At  first  the  pups  were  unhappy.  They  missed 
their  master.  But  they  were  young,  and  flies 
were  getting  plenty  in  the  studio. 

For  Braith  the   nights  and    the  days    seemed 
to  wind  themselves  in   an  endless    chain  about 
179 


y 


180  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Rex's  sickbed.  But  when  March  had  come  and 
gone  Rex  was  out  of  danger,  and  Braith  began 
to  paint  again  on  his  belated  picture.  It  was 
too  late,  now,  for  the  Salon;  but  he  wanted  to 
finish  it  all  the  same. 

One  day,  early  in  April,  he  came  back  to 
Gethryn,  after  an  unusually  long  absence  at  his 
own  studio. 

Rex  was  up,  and  trying  to  dress.  He  turned 
a  peaked  face  toward  his  friend.  His  eyes  were 
two  great  hollows,  and  when  he  smiled  and 
spoke,  in  answer  to  Braith's  angry  exclamation, 
his  jaws  worked  visibly. 

"Keep  cool,  old  chap!"  he  said,  in  the  ghost 
of  a  voice. 

"What  are  you  getting  up  for,  all  alone?" 

"Had  to, — tired  of  the  bed.  Try  it  yourself, 
— six  weeks!" 

"You  want  to  go  back  there  and  never  quit 
it  alive — that's  what  you  want,"  said  Braith, 
nervously. 

"Don't,  either.  Come  and  button  this  col 
lar  and  stop  swearing." 

"I  suppose  you're  going  back  to  Julien's  the 
day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Braith,  sarcastically, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  181 

after  Rex  was  dressed,  and  had  been   helped  to 
the  lounge  in  the  studio. 

"No,"  said  he,    "I'm   going   to   Arcachon  to 


morrow." 


«Arca — twenty  thousand   thunders!" 
"Not  at   all,"    smiled    Rex,— a  feeble,  willful 
smile. 

Braith  sat  down   and   drew  his  chair  beside 

Gethryn. 

"Wait  awhile,  Rex." 

"I  can't  get  well  herev  you  know." 

"But  you  can  get  a  bit  stronger,  before  you 
start  on  such  a  journey." 

"I  thought  the  doctor  told  you  the  sooner  I 
went  south  the  better." 

That  was  true;   Braith  was  silent  awhile. 

At  last  he  said,  "I  have  all  the  money  you  will 
want  till  your  own  comes,  you  know,  and  I  can 
get  you  ready  by  the  end  of  this  week,  if  you 
will  go." 

Rex  was  no  baby,  but  his  voice  shook  when 
he  answered. 

"Dear  old,  kind,  unselfish  friend!  I'd  almost 
rather  remain  poor,  and  let  you  keep  on  taking 
care  of  me,  but— see  here—"  and  he  handed 


182  IN  THE  QUARTER 

him  a  letter.  "That  came  this  morning,  after 
you  left." 

Braith  read  it  eagerly,  and  looked  up  with  a 
brighter  face  than  he  had  worn  for  many  a  day. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said.     "By  Jupiter!" 

Rex  smiled  sadly  at  his  enthusiasm. 

"This  means  health,  and  a  future,  and  — 
everything,  to  you,  Rex!" 

"Health  and  \vealth,  and  happiness,"  said 
Gethryn  bitterly. 

"Yes,  you  ungrateful  young  reprobate — that's 
exactly  what  it  means.  Go  to  your  Arcachon, 
by  all  means,  since  you've  got  a  fortune  to  go 
on, — I  say — you — you  didn't  know  your  aunt 
very  well,  did  you?  You're  not  cut  up  much?" 

"I  never  saw  her  half  a  dozen  times  in  my 
whole  life.  But  she's  been  generous  to  me, 
poor  old  lady!" 

"I  should  think  so.  Two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  is  a  nice  sum  for  a  young  fel 
low  to  find  in  his  pocket  all  on  a  sudden.  And 
now — you  want  to  go  away  and  get  well,  and 
come  back  presently  and  begin  where  you  left 
off, — a  year  ago.  Is  that  it?" 

"That  is  it.      J  shall  never  get  well  here,  and 


IN  THE  QUARTER  183 

I  mean  to  get  well  if  I  can," — -he  paused,  and 
hesitated.  "That  was  the  only  letter  in  my  box 
this  morning." 

Braith  did  not  answer. 

"It  is  nearly  two  months  now,"  continued 
Rex,  in  a  low  voice. 

"What  are  your  plans?"  interrupted  Braith, 
brusquely. 

Rex  flushed. 

"I'm  going  first" — he  answered,  rather  drily, 
"to  Arcachon.  You  see  by  the  letter  my  aunt 
died  in  Florence.  Of  course  I've  got  to  go  and 
measure  out  a  lot  of  Italian  red  tape  before  I 
can  get  the  money.  It  seems  to  me  the  sooner 
I  can  get  into  the  pine  air  and  the  sea-breezes 
at  Arcachon,  the  better  chance  I  have  of  being 
fit  to  push  on  to  Florence,  via  the  Riviera,  be 
fore  the  summer  heat." 

"And  then?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  will  come  back?" 

"When*I  am  cured." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  At  last  Gethryn 
put  a  thin  hand  on  Braith's  shoulder,  and 
looked  him  lovingly  in  the  face, 


184  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"You  know,  and  I  know  how  little  I  have 
ever  done  to  deserve  your  goodness,  to  show 
my  gratitude  and — and  love  for  you.  But  if  I 
ever  come  back  I  will  prove  to  you — " 

Braith  could  not  answer,  and  did  not  try  to. 
He  sat  and  looked  at  the  floor,  the  sed  lines 
about  his  mouth  deeply  marked,  his  throat  mov 
ing  once  or  twice  as  he  swallowed  the  lump  of 
grief  that  kept  rising. 

After  a  while  he  muttered  something  about  its 
being  time  for  Rex's  supper,  and  got  up  and 
fussed  about  with  a  spirit  lamp,  and  broths  and 
jellies,  more  like  Rex's  mother  than  a  rough 
young  bachelor.  In  the  midst  of  his  work  there 
came  a  shower  of  blows  on  the  studio  door, 
and  Clifford,  Rowden  and  Elliott  trooped  in 
without  more  ado. 

They  set  up  a  chorus  of  delighted  yells  at  see 
ing  Rex  dressed  and  on  the  studio  lounge.  But 
Braith  suppressed  them  promptly. 

"Don't  you  know  any  better  than  that?"  he 
growled.  "What  did  you  come  for,  any  way? 
It's  Rex's  supper  time." 

"We  came,  Papa,"  said  Clifford,  "to  tell  Rex 
that  I  have  reformed.  We  wanted  him  to  know 
it  as  soon  as  we  did  ourselves.," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  185 

"Ah!  he's  a  changed  man!  He's  worked  all 
day  at  Julien's  for  a  week  past,"  cried  Elliott 
and  Rovvden  together. 

"And  my  evenings  ?"prompted  Clifford  sweetly, 

"Are  devoted  to  writing  letters  home!" 
chanted  the  chorus. 

"Get  out!"  was  all  Rex  answered,  but  his 
face  brightened  at  the  three  bad  boys  standing 
in  a  row  with  their  hats  all  held  politely  against 
their  stomachs.  He  had  not  meant  to  tell  them, 
dreading  the  fatigue  of  explanations,  but  by  an 
impulse  he  held  out  his  hand  to  them. 

"I  say,  you  fellows,  shake  hands!  I'm  going 
off  to-morrow^"  • 

Their  surprise  having  been  more  or  less  noisily 
and  profusely  expressed,  Braith  stepped  decid 
edly  in  between  them  and  his  patient,  satisfied 
their  curiosity,  and  gently  signified  that  it  was 
time  to  go. 

He  only  permitted  one  shake  apiece,  foiling 
all  Clifford's  rebellious  attempts  to  dodge  around 
him  and  embrace  Gethryn.  But  Rex  was  lying 
back  by  this  time,  tired  out,  and  he  was  glad 
when  Braith  closed  the  studio  door.  It  flew 
open  the  next  minute,  and  an  envelope  came 
spinning  across  to  Rex, 


186  7/V  THE  QUARTER 

"Letter  in  your  box,  Reggie,— good-bye,  old 
chap!"  said  Clifford's  voice. 

The  door  did  not  quite  close  again,  and  the 
voices  and  steps  of  his  departing  friends  came 
echoing  back  as  Braith  raised  a  black-edged  let 
ter  from  the  floor.  It  bore  the  post- mark,  Ver- 
non. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Round  about  the  narrow  valley  which  is  cut 
by  the  rapid  Trauerbach,  Bavarian  mountains 
tower,  their  well  timbered  flanks  scattered  here 
and  there  with  rough  slides,  or  opening  out  in 
long  green  alms,  and  here  at  evening  one  may 
sometimes  see  a  spot  of  yellow,  moving  along 
the  bed  of  a  half  dry  mountain  torrent. 

Miss  Ruth  Dene  stood  in  front  of  the  Forest 
er's  lodge  at  Trauerbach,  one  evening  at  sun 
set,  and  watched  such  a  spot  on  the  almost 
perpendicular  slope  that  rose  opposite,  high 
above  her  head.  Some  Jaegers  and  the  For 
ester  were  looking,  too. 

"My  glass,  Federl!     Ja!  's  ist'n  gams!" 

"Gems?"  inquired  Miss  Dene,  excited  by  her 
first  view  of  a  chamois. 

"Ja!  'n  Gams,"  said  the  Forester,  sticking 
to  his  dialect. 

The  sun  was  setting   behind   the   Red    Peak, 
his  last  rays  pouring  into  the  valley.     They  fell 
187 


188  IN  THE  QUARTER 

on  rock  and  aim,  on  pine  and  beech,  and  turned 
the  silver  Trauerbach  to  molten  gold. 

Mr.  Isidor  Blumenthal,  sitting  at  a  table  under 
one  of  the  windows,  drinking  beer,  beheld  this 
phenomenon,  and  putting  down  his  quart  meas 
ure,  he  glared  at  the  waste  of  precious  metal. 
Then  he  lighted  the  stump  of  a  cigar;  then  he 
looked  at  his  watch  and  it  beinej  almost  supper 
time,  he  went  in  to  secure  the  best  place.  He 
liked  being  early  at  table;  he  liked  the  first  cut 
of  the  meats,  hot  and  fat;  he  loved  plenty  of 
gravy.  While  waiting  to  be  served  he  could 
count  the  antlers  on  the  walls,  and  estimate 
"how  much  they  would  fetch  by  an  antiquar," 
as  he  said  to  himself.  There  was  nothing  else 
marketable  in  the  large  bare  room,  full  of  deal 
tables,  and  furnished  with  benches  built  against 
the  wall.  But  he  could  pick  his  teeth  demon 
stratively, — toothpicks  were  not  charged  in  the 
bill, — and  he  could  lean  back  on  two  legs  of  his 
chair,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stare 
through  the  windows  at  Miss  Dene. 

The  Herr  Forester  and  the  two  Jaegers  had 
gone  away.  Miss  Dene  stood  now  with  her 
slender  hands  clasped  easily  behind  her,  a  Tarn. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  189 

O'Shanter  shading  her  sweet  face.  She  was 
tall,  and  so  far  as  Mr.  Blumenthal  had  ever 
seen,  extremely  grave  for  her  years.  But  Mr. 
Blumenthai's  opportunities  of  observing  Miss 
Dene  had  been  limited. 

The  "gams"  had  disappeared.  Miss  Dene 
was  looking  down  the  road  that  leads  to  Schick- 
salee.  There  was  not  much  visible  there,  ex 
cept  a  whirl  of  dust  raised  by  the  sudden  even 
ing  wind. 

Sometimes  it  was  swept  away  for  a  moment; 
then  she  saw  a  weather-beaten  bridge,  and  a 
bend  in  the  road,  where  it  disappeared  among 
the  noble  firs  of  a  Bavarian  forest. 

The  sun  sank,  and  left  the  Trauerbach  a 
stream  of  molten  lead.  The  shadows  crept  up 
to  the  Jaeger's  hut,  and  then  to  the  little  chapel 
above  that.  Gusts  of  whistling  martins  swept  by. 

A  silk-lined,  Paris-made  wool  dress  rustled 
close  beside  her,  and  she  put  out  one  of  the 
slender  hands  without  turning  her  head. 

"Mother,  dear,"  said  she,  as  a  little  silver- 
haired  old  lady  took  it,  and  came  and  leaned 
against  her  tall  girl's  shoulder,  "haven't  we  had 
enough  of  the  (F6rst-haus  zu  Trauerbach'  ?" 


190  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Not  until  a  certain  girl  who  danced  away 
her  color  at  Cannes,  begins  to  bloom  again." 

Ruth  shrugged,  and  then  laughed.  "At  least 
it  isn't  so, — so  indigestible  as  Munich." 

"Oh!  Absurd!  Speaking  of  digestion,  come 
to  your  Schmarn  und  Reh-braten.  Supper  is 
ready." 

Mother  and  daughter  walked  into  the  dingy 
"Stube,"  and  took  their  seats  at  the  Forester's 
table. 

Mr.  Blumenthal's  efforts  had  not  secured  him 
a  place  there  after  all,  Anna,  the  capable  niece 
of  the  Frau  Forster,  having  set  down  a  large 
foot,  clad  in  a  thick  white  stocking  and  a  carpet 
slipper,  to  the  effect  that  there  was  only  room 
for  the  Herr  Forster' s  family,  and  the  Ameri 
cans. 

"I  also  am  an  American!"  cried  Mr.  Blu- 
menthal  in  Hebrew-German.  Nevertheless, 
when  Ruth  and  her  mother  came  in  he  bowed 
affably  to  them  from  the  nearest  end  of  the  next 
table. 

"Mamma,"  said  Ruth,  very  low,  "I  hope 
I'm  not  going  to  begin  being  difficult,  but,  do 
you  know,  that  is  really  an  odious  man?" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  ]9l 

"Yes,  I  do  know,"  laughed  her  easy-tempered 
mother,  "but  what  is  that  to  us?" 

Mr.  Blumenthal  was  reveling  in  hot  fat.  After 
he  had  bowed  and  smiled  greasily,  he  tucked  his 
napkin  tighter  under  his  chin,  and  fell  once 
more  upon  the  gravy.  He  sopped  his  bread  in 
it,  and  scooped  it  up  with  his  knife.  But  after 
there  was  no  more  gravy  he  wished  to  converse. 
He  scrubbed  his  lips  with  one  end  of  the  nap 
kin,  and  called  across  to  Ruth,  who  shrank  be 
hind  her  mother:  "Veil,  Miss  Dene,  you  have 
to-day  a  shammy  seen,  not?" 

Ruth  kept  out  of  sight,  but  Mrs.  Dene  nodded, 
good-naturedly. 

"Ja!  soh!  and  haf  you  auch  dose  leetle  deer 
mit  der  mamma  seen?  I  haf  myself  such  leetle 
deer  myself  many  times  shoot,  me  and  my 
neffe.  But  not  here.  It  is  not  permitted."  No 
one  answered.  Ruth  asked  Anna  for  the  salt. 

"My  neffe  he  eats  such  lots  of  salt — "  began 
Mr.  Blumenthal. 

"Herr  Forster,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Dene — 
"Is  the  room  ready  for  our  friend  who  is  coming 
this  evening?" 

"Your  vriendt,  he  is  from  New  York?" 


192  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Ja,  ja,  Gnadige  Frau!"  said  the  Forester, 
hastily. 

"I  haf  a  broader  in  New  York.  Blumenthal 
and  Cohen,  you  know  dem,  yes?" 

Mrs.  Dene  and  her  daughter  rose  and  went 
quietly  out  into  the  porch,  while  the  Frau  For- 
ster,  with  cold,  round  gray  eyes  and  a  tight 
mouth,  was  whispering  to  her  frowning  spouse 
that  it  was  none  of  his  business,  and  why  get 
himself  into  trouble?  Besides,  Mrs. Dene's  Herr 
Gemahl,  meaning  the  absent  colonel,  would 
come  back  in  a  day  or  two;  let  him  attend  to 
Mr.  Blumenthal. 

Outside,  under  the  windows,  were  long  benches 
set  against  the  house,  with  tables  before  them. 
One  was  crowded  with  students,  who  had  come 
from  everywhere,  on  the  foot-tours,  dear  to 
Germans. 

Their  long  sticks,  great  bundles,  tin  botanizing 
boxes,  and  sketching  tools  lay  in  untidy  heaps; 
their  stone  krugs  were  foaming  with  beer,  and 
their  mouths  were  full  of  black  bread  and  cheese. 

Underneath  the  other  window,  was  the  Jae 
ger's  table.  There  they  sat,  gossiping  as  usual, 
with  the  Forester's  helpers,  a  herdsman  or  two, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  103 

some  wood-cutters  on  their  way  into  or  out  from 
the  forest,  and  a  pair  of  smart  revenue  officers 
from  the  Tyrol  border,  close  by. 

Ruth  said  to  the  nearest    Jaeger  in  passing: 

"Herr  Loisl,  will  you  play  for  us?" 

"But  certainly,  gracious  Fraulein!  Shall  I 
bring  my  zither  to  the  table  under  the  beech 
tree?" 

"Please  do!" 

Miss  Dene  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  big 
blond  Jaegers. 

"Ja  freili!  will  I  play  for  the  gracious  Frau 
lein!"  said  Loisl,  and  cut  slices  with  his  hunt 
ing  knife  from  a  large  white  radish,  and  ate  them 
with  black  bread,  shining  good-humor  from  the 
tip  of  the  black-cock  feather  on  his  old  green 
felt  hat,  to  his  bare,  bronzed  knees,  and  his  hob 
nailed  shoes. 

At  the  table  under  the  beech  trees  were  two 
more  great  fellows  in  gray  and  green.  They 
rose  promptly,  and  were  moving  away;  Mrs. 
Dene  begged  them  to  remain,  and  they  sat  down 
again,  diffidently,  but  with  dignity. 

"Herr  Sepp,"  said  Ruth,  smiling  a  little  mis 
chievously,  "how  is  this?  Herr  Federl  shot  a 


194  IN  THE  QUARTER 

stag  of  eight  this  morning,  and  I  hear  that  yes 
terday  you  missed  a  Reh-bock!" 

Sepp  reddened,  and  laughed.  "Only  wait, 
gracious  Fraulein ,  next  week  it  is  my  turn  on 
the  Red  Peak." 

"Ach,  ja!  Sepp  knows  the  springs  where  the 
deer  drink,"  said  Federl. 

"And  you  never  took  us  there!"  cried  Ruth, 
reproachfully.  "I  would  give  anything  to  see 
the  deer  come  and  drink  at  sundown." 
.}  Sepp  felt  his  good  breeding  under  challenge. 
"If  the  gracious  Frau  permits,"  with  a  gentle 
manly  bow  to  Mrs.  Dene,  "and  the  ladies  care 
to  come  — But  the  way  is  hard — " 

"You  couldn't  go,  dearest,"  murmured  Ruth 
to  her  mother,  "but  when  papa  comes  back — 

"Your  father  will  be  delighted  to  take  you 
wherever  there  is  a  probability  of  breaking  both 
your  necks,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dene. 

"Griffin!"  said  Ruth,  giving  her  hand  a  lov 
ing  little  squeeze  under  the  table. 

Loisl  came  up  with  his  zither,  and  they  all 
made  way  before  him.  Anna  placed  a  small 
lantern  on  the  table  and  the  light  fell  on  the 
handsome  bearded  Jaeger's  face,  as  he  leaned 
lovingly  above  his  instrument. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  195 

The  incurable  "Sehnsuchf'of  humanity  found 
not  its  only  expression  in  that  great  Symphony 
where  "all  the  mightier  strings  assembling,  fell 
a  trembling."  Ruth  heard  it  as  she  leaned  back 
in  the  deep  shade  and  listened  to  those  silvery 
melodies,  and  chords  of  wonderful  purity,  coaxed 
from  the  little  zither  by  Loisl's  strong,  rough 
hand,  with  its  tender  touch.  To  all  the  airs  he 
played  her  memory  supplied  the  words.  Some 
times  a  Sennerin  was  watching  from  the  Aim 
for  her  lover's  visit  in  the  evening.  Sometimes 
the  hunter  said  farewell  as  he  sprang  down  the 
mountain  side.  Once  tears  came  into  Ruth's 
eyes  as  the  simple  tune  recalled  how  a  maiden 
who  died  and  went  to  Heaven  told  her  lover  at 
parting: 

"When  you  come  after  me  I  shall  know  you 
by  my  ring  which  you  will  wear,  and  me  you 
will  know  by  your  rose  that  rests  on  my  heart." 

Loisl  had  stopped  playing  and  was  tuning  a 
little,  idly  sounding  chords  of  penetrating  sweet 
ness.  There  came  a  noise  of  jolting  and  jin 
gling  from  the  road  below. 

Mrs  Dene  spoke  softly  to  Ruth.  "That  is  the 
Mail;  it  is  time  he  was  here."  Ruth  assented 


196  IN  THE  QUARTER 

absently.  She  cared  at  that  moment  more  for 
hearing  a  new  folk-song  than  for  the  coming  of 
her  old  playmate. 

Rapid  wheels  approaching  from  the  same  di 
rection  overtook  and  passed  the  "Post,"  and 
stopped  below.  Mrs.  Dene  rose,  drawing  Ruth 
with  her.  The  three  tall  Jaegers  rose  too, 
touching  their  hats.  Thanking  them  all,  with 
a  special  compliment  to  Loisl,  the  ladies  went 
arid  stood  by  some  stone  steps  which  lead  from 
the  road  to  the  Forst-haus,  just  as  a  young 
fellow,  proceeding  up  them  two  at  a  time,  ar 
rived  at  the  top,  and  taking  Mrs.  Dene's  hand 
began  to  kiss  it  affectionately. 

"At  last!"  she  cried,  "and  the  very  same  boy! 
After  four  years!  Ruth!"  Ruth  gave  one  hand 
and  Reginald  Gethryn  took  two,  releasing  one 
the  next  moment  to  put  his  arm  around  the  little 
old  lady,  and  so  he  led  them  both  into  the  house, 
more  at  home  already  than  they  were. 

"Shall  we  begin  to  talk  about  how  we  are  not 
one  bit  changed,  only  a  little  older,  first,  01 
about  your  supper?"  said  Mrs.  Dene. 

"Oh!  supper,  please!"  said  Rex,  of  the  sun- 
browned  face  and  laughing  eyes.  Smiling  Anna, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  197 

standing  by,    understood,   aided  by  a  hint  from 
Ruth     of    "Schmarn     und     Reh-braten"— and 
clattered  away  to  fetch  the  never-changing  ven 
ison  and  fried  batter,  with  which,  and    Schick- 
salsee  beer  the  Frau  Forster  sustained  her  guests 
the   year  round,  from    "Georgi"  to    "Michael!" 
and   from   "Michael!"    to    "Georgi,"    reasoning 
that  what  she  liked  was  good  enough  for  them. 
The  shapeless  cook  was  ladling  out    dumplings, 
which  she  called  "Nudel"  into    some    soup,   for 
a  Munich  opera  singer,  who   had   just    arrived 
by  the  stage.     Anna    confided  to   her  that   this 
was  a  "feiner  Herr,"  and  must  be  served  accord 
ingly.    The  kind  Herr  Forster  came  up  to  greet 
his  guest.      Mrs.    Dene    introduced    him   as  Mr. 
Gethryn,  of  New  York.    At  this  Mr.  Blumenthal 
bounced  forward    from    a  corner   where    he  had 
been  spying,  and  shook  hands  hilariously.   "Veil ! 
and  how  it   goes!"  he   cried.      Rex   saw  Ruth's 
face  as  she   turned   away,  r  nd   stepping  to    her 
side    he  whispered,  "Friend    of    yours?"     The 
teazing  tone  woke  a  thousand  memories  of  their 
boy  and  girl  days,  and  Ruth's  young  lady  reserve 
had  changed  to  the  frank  camaraderie  of  former 
times  when  she  shook  her  head  at  him  laugh- 


198  IN  THE  QUARTER 

ing,  as  he  looked  back  at  them  from  the  stairs, 
up  which  he  was  following  Grethi  and  his  port 
manteau  to  the  room  prepared  for  him. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Dene  and  her  daugh 
ter  were  looking  with  approval  at  Rex  and  his 
hearty  enjoyment  of  the  Frau  Forster's  fare. 
The  cook,  on  learning  that  this  was  a  "feiner 
Herr,"had  added  trout  to  the  regulation  dishes; 
and  although  she  was  convinced  that  the  only 
proper  way  to  cook  them  was  "blau  gesotten" 
—  meaning  boiled  to  a  livid  bluish  white,  she 
had  learned  American  tastes  from  the  Denes, 
and  sent  them  in  to  Gethryn  beautifully  brown 
and  crisp. 

Rex  turned  one  over  critically.  "Good  little 
fish.  Who  is  the  angler?" 

"Oh!  angler!  They  were  caught  with  bait," 
said  Ruth,  wrinkling  her  nose. 

Rex  gave  her  a  quick  look.  "I  suppose  you 
have  forgotten  how  to  cast  a  fly." 

"No,   I  think  not,"  she  answered  quietly. 

Mrs.  Dene  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  and 
then  discreetly  closed  it  again  in  silence,  reflect 
ing  that  whatever  there  was  to  come  on  that 
point  would  get  itself  said  without  any  assist 
ance  from  her. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  199 

"I  had  a  look  at  the  water  as   I  came  along," 
continued  Rex,      "It  seemed  good  casting." 

"I  never  see  it  but  I  think  how  nice  it  would 
be  to  whip,"  said  Ruth. 

"No!  really?  Not  outgrown  the  rod  and  fly 
since  you  grew  into  ball  dresses?" 

"Try  me  and  see." 

"Now,   my  dearest  child! — " 

"Yes,  my  dearest  mother!— 

"Yes,  dearest  Mrs.  Dene! — " 

"Oh!  nonsense!  listen  to  me,  you  children. 
Ruth  danced  herself  ill  at  Cannes;  and  she 
lost  her  color,  and  she  had  a  little  cough,  and 
she  has  it  still,  and  she  is  very  easily  tired—" 

"Only  of  not  fishing  and  hunting,  dearest, 
most  perfect  of  mothers!  You  won't  put  up 
papa  to  forbid  my  going  with  him  and  Rex!" 

"Your  mother  is  incapable  of  such  an  action. 
How  little  you  know  her  worth!  She  is  only 
waiting  to  be  assured  that  you  are  to  have  my 
green-heart,  with  a  reel  that  spins  fifty  yards  of 
silk.  She  shall  have  it,  Mrs.  Dene." 

"Is  it  as  good  as  the  horn-beam?"  asked  Ruth, 
smiling. 

"The  old  horn-beam!  do  you  remember  that? 


200  IN  THE  QUARTER 

I  say,  Ruth,  you    spoke    of  shooting.     Really, 
can  you  still  shoot  ?" 

"Could  I  ever  forget  after  such  teaching?" 

"Well,  now,  I  call  that  a  girl!"  cried  Rex, 
enthusiastically. 

"Let  us  hope  some  people  won't  call  it  a  uoy- 
den!"  said  Mrs.Dene,  with  the  tender  pride  that 
made  her  fault-finding  like  a  caress.  "The  idea 
of  a  girl  carrying  an  absurd  little  breech-loading 
rifle  all  over  Europe!" 

"What!  the  one  I  had  built  for  her?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Mrs.  Dene,  with  a  shade 
more  of  reserve. 

"Miss  Dene,  you  shall  kill  the  first  chamois 
that  I  see!" 

"I  fear,  Mr.  Gethryn,  the  Duke  Alfons  Adal 
bert  Maximilian  in  Baiern  will  have  something 
to  say  about  that!" 

"Oh— h— h  !     Preserved  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  preserved!" 

"But  they  told  me  I  might  shoot  on  the 
Sonnewendjoch." 

"Ah!  But  that's  in  Tyrol,  just  across  the 
line.  You  can  see  it  from  here.  Austrian  game 
laws  aren't  Bavarian  game  laws,  sir!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  201 

"How  much  of  this  country  does  your  duke 
own  ?" 

"Just  half  a  dozen  mountains,  and  half  a  dozen 
lakes,  and  half  a  hundred  trout  streams,  with 
all  the  splendid  forests  belonging  to  them." 

"Lucky  duke!  And  is  the  game  preserved 
in  the  whole  region?  Can't  one  get  a  shot?" 

"One  cannot  even  carry  a  gun  without  a  per 
mit." 

Rex  groaned.  "And  the  trout— I  suppose  they 
are  preserved,  too?" 

"Yes,  but  the  Herr  Forster  has  the  right  to 
fish  and  so  have  his  guests.  There  are,  how 
ever,  conditions.  The  fish  you  take  are  not 
yours.  You  must  buy  as  many  of  them  as  you 
want  to  keep,  afterward.  And  they  must  be 
brought  home  alive — or  as  nearly  alive  as  is 
consistent  with  being  shut  up  in  a  close,  round, 
green  tin  box,  full  of  water  which  becomes  tepid 
as  it  is  carried  along  by  a  peasant  boy  in  the 
heat.  They  usually  die  of  suffocation.  But  to 
the  German  mind  that  is  all  right.  It  is  only 
not  right  when  one  kills  them  instantly  and  lays 
them  in  a  cool  creel,  on  fresh,  wet  ferns  and 
moss," 


202  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Nevertheless,  I  think  we  will  dispense  with 
the  boy  and  the  green  box,  in  favor  of  the  ferns 
and  moss,  assisted  by  a  five  franc  piece  or  two." 

"It  isn't  francs  any  more;  you're  not  in 
France.  It's  marks  here,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  have  the  same  faith  in  the  corrupt 
ing  power  of  marks,  as  of  francs,  or  lire,  or 
shillings,  or  dollars." 

"And  I  think  you  will  find  your  confidence 
justified,"  said  Mrs.  Dene,  smiling. 

"Mamma  trying  to  be  cynical!"  said  Ruth, 
teazingly.  "Isn't  she  funny,  Rex!" 

A  thoughtful  look  stole  over  her  mother's 
face.  "I  can  be  terrible,  too,  sometimes — "  she 
said  in  her  little,clear,  high  soprano  voice;  and 
she  gazed  musingly  at  the  edge  of  a  letter, 
which  just  appeared  above  the  table,  and  then 
sank  out  of  sight  in  her  lap. 

"A  letter  from  papa!  It  came  with  the  stage! 
What  does  he  say?" 

"He  says — several  things;  for  one,  he  is  com 
ing  back  to-morrow  instead  of  the  next  day." 

"Delightful!      But  there  is  more?" 

Mrs.  Dene's  face  became  a  cheerful  blank, 
"Yes,  there  is  more,"  she  said.  A  pause. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  203 

"Mamma,"  began  Ruth,  "do  you  think  Griffins 
desirable  as  mothers?" 

"Very,  for  bad  children!"  Mrs.  Dene  relapsed 
into  a  pleasant  reverie.  Ruth  looked  at  her 
mother  as  a  kitten  does  in  a  game  of  tag,  when 
the  old  cat  has  retired  somewhere  out  of  reach, 
and  sits  up  smiling  through  the  barrier. 

"You  find  her  sadly  changed!"  she  said  to 
Gethryn,  in  that  silvery,  mocking  tone  which 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  find  her  the  same  adorable 
gossip  she  always  was.  Whatever  is  in  that 
letter,  she  is  simply  dying  to  tell  us  all  about 
it." 

"Suppose  we  try  not  speaking,  and  see  how 
long  she  can  stand  that?" 

Rex  laid  his  repeater  on   the  table.   Two  pairs 
of  laughing  eyes  watched  the  dear  little  old  lady. 
At  the  end  of  three  minutes  she  raised  her  own, 
blue,  sweet,   running   over  with    fun  and    kind 
ness. 

"The  colonel  has  a  polite  invitation  from  the 
duke    for  himself  and  his  party,  to  shoot  on  the 
Red  Peak." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

In  July  the  sun  is  still  an  early  riser,  but  long 
before  he  was  up  next  day  a  succession  of  raps 
on  the  door  woke  Gethryn,  and  a  voice  outside 
inquired,  "Are  you  going  fishing  with  me  to 
day,  you  lazy  beggar?" 

"Colonel!"  cried  Rsx,  and  springing  up  and 
throwing  open  the  door,  he  threatened  to  min 
gle  his  pajamas  with  the  natty  tweeds  waiting 
there,  in  a  loving  embrace.  The  colonel  backed 
away,  twisting  his  white  mustache.  "How  do, 
Reggy!  Same  boy,  eh?  Yes.  I  drove  from 
Schicksalsee  this  morning." 

"This  morning?  Wasn't  it  last  night?"  said 
Rex,  looking  at  the  shadows  on  the  opposite 
mountain. 

"And  I  am  going  to  get  some  trout,"  continued 
the  colonel,  ignoring  the  interruption.  "So's 
Daisy.  See  my  new  waterproof  rig?" 

"Beautiful!   but — is  it  quite  the  thing  to  wear 
a  flower  in  one's  fishing  coat?" 
204 


IN  THE  QUARTER  205 

"I'm  not  aware  — "  began  the  other  stiffly, 
but  broke  down,  shook  his  seal  ring  at  Rex, 
and  walking  over  to  the  glass,  re-arranged  the 
bit  of  wild  hyacinth  in  his  buttonhole  with  care. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "Daisy  and  I  will  give 
you  just  three  quarters  of  an  hour."  Rex  sent 
a  shower  from  the  water  basin  across  the  room. 

"Look  out  for  those  new  water-proof  clothes, 
Colonel." 

"I'll  take  them  out  of  harm's  way,"  said  the 
colonel,  and  disappeared. 

Before  the  time  had  expired  Rex  stood  under 
the  beech  tree  with  his  rod  case  and  his  creel. 
The  colonel  sat  reading  a  novel.  Mrs.  Dene 
was  pouring  out  coffee.  Ruth  was  coming  down 
a  path  which  led  from  a  low  shed,  the  door  of 
which  stood  wide  open,  suffering  the  early 
sunshine  to  fall  on  something  that  lay  stretched 
along  the  floor.  It  was  a  stag,  whose  noble 
head  and  branching  antlers  would  never  toss  in 
the  sunshine  again. 

"Only  think!"  cried  Ruth  breathlessly,  "Fed- 
erl  shot  a  stag  of  ten  this  morning  at  daybreak 
on  the  Red  Peak,  and  he's  frightened  out  of  his 
wits,  for  only  the  duke  has  a  right  to  do  that. 


206  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Federl  mistook  it  for  a  stag  of  eight.  And 
they're  in  the  velvet,  besides!"  she  added  rather 
incoherently.  "What  luck!  Poor  Federl!  I 
asked  him  if  that  meant  strajen,  and  he  said  he 
guessed  not,  only  zankcn" 

"What's 'strafen,'  and  what's  'zanken,'  Dai 
sy?"  asked  the  Colonel,  pronouncing  the  latter 
like  z  in  buzz, 

Ruth  went  up  to  her  father  and  took  his  face 
between  her  hands,  dropping  a  light  kiss  on  his 
eye -brow. 

"Strafen  is  when  one  whips  bad  boys,  and 
t-s-za/i&e/i,  is  when  one  only  scolds  them. 
Which  shall  we  do  to  you,  dear?  Both?" 

"We'll  take  coffee  first,  and  then  we'll  see 
which  there's  time  for  before  we  leave  you  hem 
ming  a  pocket  handkerchief  while  Rex  and  I  go 
trout  fishing." 

"Such  parents!"  sighed  Ruth,  nestling  down 
beside  her  father,  and  looking  over  her  cup  at 
Rex,  who  gravely  nodded  sympathy. 

After  breakfast,  as  Ruth  stood  waiting  by  the 
table  where  the  fishing  tackle  lay,  perfectly 
composed  in  manner,  but  unable  to  keep  the 
color  from  her  cheek,  and  the  sparkle  of  impa- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  20? 

tience  from  her  eye,  Gethryn  thought  he  had 
seldom  seen  anything  more  charming. 

A  soft  gray  Tarn  crowned  her  pretty  hair.  A 
caped  coat,  fastened  to  the  throat,  hung  over 
the  short  kilt  skirt,  and  rough  gaiters  buttoned 
down  over  a  wonderful  little  pair  of  hob-nailed 
boots. 

"I  say!  Ruth!  what  a  stunner  you  are  !"  cried 
he  with  enthusiasm.  She  turned  to  the  rod 
case,  and  began  lifting  and  arranging  the  rods. 

"Rex,"  she  said,  looking  up  brightly,  "I  feel 
about  sixteen  to-day." 

"Or  less,  judging  from  your  costume,"  said 
her  mother.  "Schicksalsee  isn't  Rangely,  you 
know.  I  only  hope  the  good  people  in  the  little 
ducal  court  won't  call  you  theatrical." 

"A  theatrical  stunner!"  mused  Ruth,  in  her 
clearest  tones.  "It  is  good  to  know  how  one 
strikes  one's  friends." 

"The  disciplining  of  this  young  person  is  to 
be  left  to  me,"  said  the  colonel.  "Daisy,  every 
thing  else  about  you  is  all  wrong,  but  your  frock 
is  all  right." 

"That  is  simple,  and  comprehensive  and  re 
assuring,"  murmured  Ruth  absently,  as  she  bent 
over  the  fly-book  with  Gethryn. 


208  IN  THE  QUARTER 

After  much  consultation,  and  many  thought 
ful  glances  at  the  bit  of  water  which  glittered 
and  dashed  through  the  narrow  meadow  in  front 
of  the  house,  they  arranged  the  various  colored 
lures  and  leaders,  and  standing  up,  looked  at 
Colonel  Dene,  reading  his  novel. 

"What?  Oh!  Come  along,  then!"  said  he, 
on  being  made  aware  that  he  was  waited  for, 
and  standing  up  also,  he  dropped  the  volume 
into  his  creel,  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  that  trash  along, 
dear?"  asked  his  daughter. 

"What  trash?  The  work  of  fiction?  That's 
literature,  as  the  gentleman  said  about  Dante." 

"Rex,"  said  Mrs.  Dene,  buttoning  the  colo 
nel's  coat  over  his  snowy  collar,  "I  put  this  ex 
pedition  into  your  hands.  Take  care  of  these 
two  children." 

She  stood  and  watched  them  until  they  passed 
the  turn  beyond  the  bridge.  Mr.  Blumenthal 
watched  them  too,  from  behind  the  curtains  in 
his  room.  His  leer  went  from  one  to  the  other, 
but  always  returned  and  rested  on  Rex.  Then, 
as  there  was  a  mountain  chill  in  the  morning 
air,  he  crawled  back  into  bed,  hauling  his  night 


IN  THE  QUARTER  209 

cap  over  his  generous  ears,  and  rolling  himself 
in  a  cocoon  of  featherbeds,  until  he  should  emerge 
about  noon,  like  some  sleek,  fat  moth. 

The  anglers  walked  briskly  up  the  wooded 
road,  chatting  and  laughing,  with  now  and  then 
a  sage  and  critical  glance  at  the  water,  of  which 
they  caught  many  glimpses  through  the  trees. 
Gethryn  and  Ruth  were  soon  far  ahead.  The 
colonel  sauntered  along,  switching  leaves  with 
his  rod,  and  indulging  in  bursts  of  Parisian  mel 
ody. 

"Papa,"  called  Ruth,  looking  back,  "does  your 
hip  trouble  you  to-day,  or  are  you  only  lazy?" 

"Trot  along,  little  girl;  I'll  be  there  before  you 
are,"  said  the  colonel  airily,  and  stopped  to 
replace  the  wild  hyacinth  in  his  coat  by  a  prim 
little  pink  and  white  daisy.  Then  he  lighted  a 
fresh  cigar  and  started  on,  but  their  voices  were 
already  growing  faint  in  the  distance.  Observ 
ing  this,  he  stopped  and  looked  up  and  down 
the  road.  No  one  was  in  sight.  He  sat  down 
on  the  bank  with  his  hand  on  his  hip.  His  face 
changed  from  a  frown  to  an  expression  of  sharp 
pain.  In  five  minutes  he  had  grown  from  a 
fresh  elderly  man  into  an  old  man,  his  face  drawn 


210  IN  THE  QUARTER 

and  gray,  but  he  only  muttered  "the  devil!"  and 
sat  still.  A  big  bronze-winged  beetle  whizzed 
past  him,  z-z-ip!  "like  a  bullet,"  he  thought, 
and  pressed  both  hands  now  on  his  hip.  "Twenty- 
five  years  ago— pshaw!  I'm  not  so  old  as  that!" 
But  it  was  twenty-five  years  ago  when  the  blue- 
capped  troopers,  bursting  in  to  the  rescue,  found 
the  dandy — th,  scorched  and  rent  and  black 
ened,  still  reeling  beneath  a  rag  crowned  with  a 
gilt  eagle.  The  exquisite  befeathered  and  gold 
laced — th.  But  the  shells  have  rained  for  hours 
among  the  "Dandies" — and  some  are  dead, 
and  some  are  wishing  for  death,  like  that  young 
ster  lying  there  with  the  shattered  hip. 

Colonel  Dene  rose  up  presently  and  re-lighted 
his  cigar;  then  he  flicked  some  dust  from  the 
new  tweeds,  picked  a  stem  of  wild  hyacinth, 
and  began  to  whistle.  "Pshaw!  I'm  not  so  old 
as  all  that!"  he  murmured,  sauntering  along  the 
pleasant  wood-road.  Before  long  he  came  in 
sight  of  Ruth  and  Gethryn,  who  were  waiting. 
But  he  only  waved  them  on  laughing. 

"Papa  always  says  that  old  wound  of  his  does 
not  hurt-  him,  but  it  does.  I  know  it  does," 
said  Ruth. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  211 

Rex  noted  what  tones  of  tenderness  there 
were  in  her  cool,  clear  voice.  He  did  not  an 
swer,  for  he  could  only  agree  with  her,  and 
what  could  be  the  use  of  that? 

They  strolled  on  in  silence,  up  the  fragrant 
forest  road.  Great  glittering  dragon  flies  drifted 
along  the  river  bank,  or  hung  quivering  above 
pools.  Clouds  of  lazy  sulphur  butterflies 
swarmed  and  floated,  eddying  up  from  the  road 
in  front  of  them,  and  settling  down  again  in 
their  wake  like  golden  dust.  A  fox  stole  across 
the  path,  but  Gethryn  did  not  see  him.  The 
mesh  of  his  landing  net  was  caught  just  then  in 
a  little  gold  clasp  that  he  wore  on  his  breast. 

"How  quaint!"  cried  Ruth;  "let  me  help  you; 
there!  One  would  think  you  were  a  French 
legitimist,  with  your  fleur-de-lis." 

"Thank  you" — was  all  he  answered,  and 
turned  away,  as  he  felt  the  blood  burn  his 
face.  But  Ruth  was  walking  lightly  on  and  had 
not  noticed.  The  fleur-de-lis,  however,  remind 
ed  her  of  something  she  had  to  say,  and  she  be 
gan  again,  presently — 

"You  left  Paris  rather  suddenly,  did  you  not, 
Rex?" 


212  IN  THE  QUARTER 

This  time  he  colored  furiously,  and  Ruth 
turning  to  him  saw  it.  She  flushed  too,  fearing 
to  have  made,  she  knew  not  what  blunder,  but 
she  went  on  seriously,  not  pausing  for  his  an 
swer: 

"The  year  before,  that  is  three  years  ago  now, 
we  waited  in  Italy,  as  we  had  promised  to  do, 
for  you  to  join  us.  But  you  never  even  wrote 
to  say  why  you  did  not  come.  And  you  haven't 
explained  it  yet,  Rex." 

Gethryn  grew  pale.  This  was  what  he  had 
been  expecting.  He  knew  it  would  have  to 
come;  in  fact  he  had  wished  for  nothing  more 
than  an  opportunity  for  making  all  the  amends 
that  were  possible  under  the  circumstances. 
But  the  possible  amends  were  very,  very  inade 
quate  at  best,  and  now  that  the  opportunity 
was  here  his  courage  failed,  and  he  would  have 
shirked  it  if  he  could.  Besides,  for  the  last  five 
minutes,  Ruth  had  been  innocently  stirring 
memories  that  made  his  heart  beat  heavily. 

And  now  she  was  waiting  for  her  answer. 
He  glanced  at  the  clear  profile,  as  she  walked 
beside  him.  Her  eyes  were  raised  a  little;  they 
seemed  to  be  idly  following  the  windings  of  a 


IN  THE  QUARTER  213 

path  that  went  up  the  opposite  mountain  side; 
her  lips  rested  one  upon  the  other  in  quiet  curves. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  such  a  pure, 
proud  looking  girl.  All  the  chivalry  of  a  gener 
ous  and  imaginative  man  brought  him  to  her 
feet. 

"I  cannot  explain.  But  I  ask  your  forgive 
ness.  Will  you  grant  it?  I  won't  forgive  my 
self!" 

She  turned  instantly  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
not  smiling,  but  her  eyes  were  very  gentle. 
They  walked  on  a  while  in  silence,  then  Rex 
said: 

"Ever  since  I  came,  I  have  been  trying  to 
find  courage  to  ask  pardon  for  that  unpardon 
able  conduct,  but  when  I  looked  in  your  dear 
mother's  face,  I  felt  myself  such  a  brute  that  I 
was  only  fit  to  hold  my  tongue.  And  I  be 
lieved,"  he  added  after  a  pause,  "that  she  would 
forgive  me  too.  She  was  always  better  to  me 
than  I  deserved." 

"Yes,"  said   Ruth. 

"And  you  also  are  too  good  to  me,"  he  con 
tinued,  "in  giving  me  this  chance  to  ask  your 
pardon."  His  voice  took  on  the  old  caressing 


214  IN  THE  QUARTER 

tone  in  which  he  used  to  make  peace  after  their 
boy  and  girl  tiffs.  "I  knew  very  well  that  with 
you  I  should  have  a  stricter  account  to  settle 
than  with  your  mother,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Yes,"  said  Ruth  again.  And  then  with  a  little 
effort  and  a  slight  flush  she  added: 

"I  don't  think  it  is  good  for  men  when  too 
many  excuses  are  made  for  them.  Do  you?" 

"No,  I  do  not,"  answered  Rex,  and  thought, 
if  all  women  were  like  this  one  how  much  easier 
it  would  be  for  men  to  lead  a  good  life!  His 
heart  stopped  its  heavy  beating.  The  memories 
which  he  had  been  fighting  for  two  years,  faded 
away  once  more;  his  spirits  rose,  and  he  felt 
like  a  boy  as  he  kept  step  with  Ruth  along  the 
path,  which  had  now  turned  and  ran  close  be 
side  the  stream. 

"Now  tell  me  something  of  your  travels," 
said  Ruth.  "You  have  been  in  the  East." 

"Yes,  in  Japan,  But  first  I  stopped  awhile 
in  India,  with  some  British  officers,  nice  fel 
lows.  There  was  some  pheasant  shooting." 

"Pheasants!      No  tigers?" 

"One  tiger." 

"You  shot  him!     Oh!  tell  me  about  it!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  215 

"No,  I  only  saw  him." 

"Where?" 

"In  a  jungle." 

"Did  you  fire?" 

"No,  for  he  was  already  dead,  and  the  odor 
which  pervaded  his  resting  place  made  me  hurry 
away  as  fast  as  if  he  had  been  alive." 

"You  are  a  provoking  boy!" 

Rex  laughed.  "I  did  shoot  a  cheetah  in 
China." 

"A  dead  one?" 

"No,  he  was  snarling  over  a  dead  buck." 

"Then  you  do  deserve  some  respect." 

"If  you  like.  But  it  was  very  easy.  One 
bullet  settled  him.  I  was  fined  afterward." 

"Fined!   for  what?" 

"For  shooting  the  Emperor's  trained  cheetah. 
After  that  I  always  looked  to  see  if  the  game 
wore  a  silver  collar  before  I  fired." 

Ruth  would  not  look  as  if  she  heard. 

Rex  went  on  teasingly:  "I  assure  you  it  was 
embarrassing  when  the  pheasants  were  bursting 
cover,  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  inquiring  at 
the  nearest  house  if  those  were  really  pheasants 
or  only  Chinese  hens." 


216  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Rex,"  exclaimed  Ruth,  indignantly,  "I  hope 
you  don't  think  I  believe  a  word  you  are  saying." 

They  had  stopped  to  rest,  beside  the  stream, 
and  now  the  colonel  sauntered  into  view,  his 
hands  full  of  wild-flowers,  his  single  eye-glass 
gleaming  beside  his  delicate  straight  nose. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  asked,  strolling  up  to 
Ruth,  and  tucking  a  cluster  of  blue-bells  under 
her  chin,  "do  you  know  what  old  Hugh  Mont 
gomery  would  say  if  he  were  here?" 

"He'd  say,"  she  replied  promptly,  "that  'we 
couldn't  take  no  traout  with  the  pesky  sun  a 
shinin'  and  a  brilin'  the  hull  crick.'" 

"Yes,"  said  Rex.  "Rise  at  four,  east  wind, 
cloudy  morning,  that  was  Hugh.  But  he  could 
cast  a  fly." 

"Couldn't  he!"  said  the  colonel.  '"I  cal'late 
ter  chuck  a  bug  ez  fur  ez  enny  o'  them  city  fel 
lers,  'n  I  kin,"'  says  Hugh.  "Going  to  begin 
here,  Rex?" 

"What  does  Ruth  think?" 

"She  thinks  she  isn't  in  command  of  this 
party,"  Ruth  replied. 

"It  will  take  us  until  late  in  the  afternoon  to 
whip  the  stream  from  here  to  the  lowest  bridge," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  217 

Rex  smiled  down  at  her,    and  pushed    back    his 
cap  with  a  boyish  gesture. 

She  had  forgotten  it  until  that  moment.  Now 
it  brought  a  perfect  flood  of  pleasant  as 
sociations.  She  had  seen  him  look  that  way  a 
hundred  times  when  in  their  teens  they  two  had 
lingered  by  the  Northern  Lakes.  Her  whole  face 
changed  and  softened,  but  she  turned  away  nod 
ding  assent,  and  went  and  stood  by  her  father, 
looking  down  at  him  with  the  bantering  air 
which  was  a  family  trait.  The  lively  colonel 
had  found  a  sunny  log  on  the  bank,  where  he 
was  sitting,  leisurely  joining  his  rod, 

"Hello !'?  he  cried,  glancing  up,  "what  are 
you  two  amateurs  about?  As  usual,  I'm  ready 
to  begin  before  Rex  is  awake!"  and  stepping  to 
the  edge  he  landed  his  flies  with  a  flourish  in 
a  young  birch  tree.  Rex  came  and  disengaged 
them,  and  he  received  the  assistance  with  per 
fect  self-possession. 

"Now  see  the  new  water-proof  rig  wade!" 
said  Ruth,  saucily. 

"Go  and  wade  yourself,  and  don't  bully  your 
old  father!"  cried  the  colonel. 

"Old!  thischil4  oW!" 


218  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Oh!  come  along,  Ruth!"  called  Rex,  waiting 
on  the  shore,  and  falling  unconsciously  into 
the  tone  of  sixteen  speaking  to  twelve. 

For  answer  she  slipped  the  cover  from  her 
slender  rod,  and  dexterously  fitted  the  delicate 
tip  to  the  second  joint. 

"Hasn't  forgotten  how  to  put  a  rod  together! 
Wonderful  girl!" 

"Oh,  I  knew  you  were  waiting  to  see  me  place 
the  second  joint  in  the  butt  first!"  She  deftly 
ran  the  silk  through  the  guides,  and  then  scien 
tifically  knotting  the  leader,  slipped  on  a  cast  of 
three  flies  and  picked  her  way  daintily  to  the 
river  bank.  As  she  waded  in,  the  sudden  cold 
made  her  gasp  a  little  to  herself,  but  she  kept 
straight  on  without  turning  her  head,  and  pres 
ently  stepped  on  a  broad,  flat  rock  over  which 
the  water  was  slipping  smoothly. 

Gethryn  waited  near  the  bank  and  watched 
her  as  she  sent  the  silk  hissing  thirty  feet  across 
the  stream.  The  line  swished  and  whistled, 
and  the  whole  cast,  hand  fly,  dropper  and 
stretcher  settled  down  lightly  on  the  water.  He 
noticed  the  easy  motion  of  the  wrist,  the  boyish 
pose  of  the  slender  figure,  the  serious  sweet 
face,  half  shaded  by  the  soft  woolen  Tarn, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  219 

Swish-h-h!  Swish-h-h!  She  slowly  spun 
out  forty  feet,  glancing  back  at  Gethryn  with  a 
little  laugh.  Suddenly  there  was  a  tremendous 
splash,  just  beyond  the  dropper,  answered  by 
a  turn  of  the  white  wrist,  and  then  the  reel 
fairly  shrieked  as  the  line  melted  away  like  a 
thread  of  smoke.  Gethryn's  eyes  glittered  with 
excitement,  and  the  colonel  took  his  cigar  out  of 
his  mouth.  But  they  didn't  shout,  "You  have 
him!  Go  easy  on  him!  Want  any  help!"  They 
kept  quiet. 

Cautiously,  and  by    degrees,  Ruth  placed  her 
little  gloved   fingers    over   the    flying   line,    and 
presently  a  quiver    of  the  rod    showed    that  the 
fish  was  checked.      She   reeled    in,  slowly    and 
steadily  for  a  moment,   and   then,  whiz-z-z!    off 
he  dashed  again.     At  seventy  feet  the  rod  trem 
bled  and  the  trout  was  still.      Again   and   again 
she  urged  him    toward   the   shore,  meeting    his 
furious  dashes  with  perfect  coolness  and  leading 
him   dexterously  away   from   rocks    and    roots. 
When  he  sulked  she  gave  him  the  butt,  and  soon 
the  full  pressure  sent  him  flying,  only  to  end  in 
a  furious  full  length  leap  out  of  water,    and  an 
other  sulk. 


220  IN  THE  QUARTER 

The  colonel's  cigar  went  out. 

At  last  she  spoke,  very  quietly,  without  look 
ing  back. 

"Rex,  there  is  no  good  place  to  beach  him 
here;  will  you  net  him,  please?"  Rex  was 
only  waiting  for  this;  he  had  his  landing  net 
already  unslung,  and  he  waded  to  her  side. 

"Now!"  she  whispered.  The  fiery  side  of  a 
fish  glittered  just  beneath  the  surface.  With  a 
skillful  dip,  a  splash,  and  a  spatter  the  trout  lay 
quivering  on  the  bank. 

Gethryn  quickly  ended  his  life  and  held  him 
up  to  view. 

"Beautiful!"  cried  the  colonel.  "Good  girl, 
Daisy!  but  don't  spoil  your  frock!"  And  pick 
ing  up  his  own  rod  he  relighted  his  cigar  and 
essayed  some  conscientious  casting  on  his  own 
account.  But  he  soon  wearied  of  the  paths  of 
virtue,  and  presently  went  in  search  of  a  grass 
hopper,  with  evil  intent. 

Meanwhile  Ruth  was  blushing  to  the  tips  of 
her  ears  at  Gethryn's  praises. 

"I  never  saw  a  prettier  sight!"  he  cried. 
"You're — you're  splendid,  Ruth!  Nerve,  judg 
ment,  skill — my  dear  girl,  you  have  everything!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  221 

Ruth's  eyes  shone  like  stars  as  she  watched 
him  in  her  turn  while  he  sent  his  own  flies  spin 
ning  across  a  pool.  And  now  there  was  nothing 
to  be  heard  but  the  sharp  whistle  of  the  silk  and 
the  rush  of  the  water.  It  seemed  a  long  time 
that  they  had  stood  there,  when  suddenly  the 
colonel  created  a  commotion  by  hooking  and 
hauling  forth  a  trout  of  meagre  proportions. 
Unheeding  Rex's  brutal  remarks,  he  silently 
inspected  his  prize,  danglnig  at  the  end  of  the 
line.  It  fell  back  into  the  water,  and  darted 
away  gayly  up  stream,  but  the  colonel  was  not 
in  the  least  disconcerted,  and  strolled  off  after 
another  grasshopper. 

"Papa!  are  you  a  bait  fisherman!"  cried  his 
daughter  severely. 

The  colonel  dropped  his  hat  guiltily  over  a 
lively  young  cricket,  and  standing  up  said  "No!" 
very  loud. 

It  was  no  use — Ruth  had  to  laugh,  and  shortly 
afterward  he  was  seated  comfortably  on  the  log 
again,  his  line  floating  with  the  stream,  in  his 
hands  a  volume  with  yellow  paper  covers,  the 
worse  for  wear,  bearing  on  its  back  the  legend, 
"Caiman  Levy,  Editeur." 


222  IN  THE  QUARTER. 

Rex  soon  struck  a  good  trout  and  Ruth  an 
other,  but  the  first  one  remained  the  largest, 
and  finally  Gethryn  called  to  the  colonel,  "If 
you  don't  mind,  we're  going  on." 

"All  right!  take  care  of  Daisy.  We  will 
meet  and  lunch  at  the  first  bridge."  Then  ex 
amining  his  line,  and  finding  the  cricket  still 
there,  he  turned  up  his  coat  collar  to  keep  off 
sunburn,  opened  his  book,  and  knocked  the  ashes 
from  his  cigar. 

"Here,"  said  Gethryn  two  hours  later,  "is  the 
bridge,  but  no  colonel.  Are  you  tired,  Ruth? 
And  hungry?" 

"Yes,  both,  but  happier  than  either!" 

"Well,  that  was  a  big  trout,  the  largest  we 
shall  take  to-day,  I  think." 

They  reeled  in  their  dripping  lines,  and  sat 
down  under  a  tree,  beside  the  lunch  basket, 
which  a  boy  from  the  lodge  was  guarding. 

"I  wish  papa  would  come,"  said  Ruth,  with 
an  anxious  look  up  the  road.  "He  ought  to  be 
hungry  too,  by  this  time." 

Rex  poured  her  a  cup  of  red  Tyroler  wine, 
and  handed  her  a  sandwich.  Then  calling  the 
boy  he  gave  him  such  a  generous  "Viertel"  for 


IN  THE  QUARTER  223 

himself  as  caused  him  to  retire  precipitately,  and 
consume  it  with  grins,  modified  by  boiled  sau 
sage,  Ruth  looked  after  him  and  smiled  in  sym 
pathy.  "I  wonder  how  papa  got  rid  of  the 
other  one  with  the  green  tin  water-box." 

"I  know;  I  was  present  at  the  interview," 
laughed  Rex.  "Your  father  handed  him  a  ten 
mark  piece  and  said,  'Go  away,  you  superfluous 
Bavarian!'" 

"In  English?" 

"Yes,  and  he  must  have  understood,  for  he 
grinned  and  went." 

It  was  good  to  hear  the  ring  of  Ruth's  laugh. 
She  was  so  happy  that  she  found  the  smallest 
joke  delightful,  and  her  voice  was  very  sweet. 
Rex  lighted  a  cigarette  and  leaned  back  against 
a  tree,  in  great  comfort.  Ruth,  perched  on  a 
log,  watched  the  smoke  drift  and  curl.  Geth- 
ryn  watched  her.  They  each  cared  as  much 
for  the  hours  they  had  spent  in  the  brook,  and 
for  their  wet  clothing,  as  vigorous,  happy,  and 
imprudent  youth  ever  cares  about  such  things. 

"So  you  are  happy,  Ruth?" 

"Perfectly.  And  you? — But  it  takes  more  to 
make  a  spoiled  young  man  happy  than — " 


224  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Than  a  spoiled  young  woman?  I  don't  know 
about  that.  Yes,  I — am — happy."  Was  the 
long  puff  of  smoke  ascending  slowly,  responsible 
for  the  pauses  between  his  words?  A  slight 
shadow  was  in  his  eyes  for  one  moment.  It 
passed,  and  he  turned  on  her  his  most  charm 
ing  smile,  as  he  repeated,  "Perfectly  happy!" 

"Still  no  colonel!"  he  went  on;  "when  he 
comes  he  will  be  tired.  We  don't  want  any 
more  trout,  do  we?  We  have  eighteen,  all  good 
ones.  Suppose  we  rest,  and  go  back  all  to 
gether  by  the  road?"  Ruth  nodded,  smiling  to 
see  him  fondle  the  creel  full  of  shining  fish, 
bedded  on  fragrant  leaves. 

Rex's  cap  lay  beside  him,  his  head  leaned 
back  against  the  tree,  his  face  was  turned  up  to 
the  bending  branches.  Presently  he  closed  his 
eyes. 

It  might  have  been  one  minute,  or  ten.  Ruth 
sat  and  watched  him.  He  had  grown  very  hand 
some.  He  had  that  pleasant  air  of  good-breed 
ing  which  some  men  retain  under  any  and  all 
circumstances.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  char 
acter,  and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  think  ill  of  a  man 
who  possesses  it.  When  she  had  seen  him  last, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  225 

his  nose  was  too  near  a  snub  to  inspire  much 
respect,  and  his  mustache  was  still  in  the 
state  of  colorless  scarcity.  Now  his  hair  and 
mustache  were  thick  and  tawny,  and  his 
features  were  clear  and  firm.  She  noticed  the 
pleasant  line  of  the  cheek,  the  clean  curve  of  the 
chin,  the  light  on  the  crisp  edges  of  his  close- 
cut  hair — the  two  freckles  on  his  nose,  and  she 
decided  that  that  short,  straight  nose,  with  its 
generous  and  humorous  nostrils  was  wholly  fas 
cinating.  As  girls  always  will,  she  began  to 
wonder  about  his  life — idly  at  first,  but  these 
speculations  lead  one  sometimes  farther  than 
one  was  prepared  to  go  at  the  start.  How 
much  of  his  delightful  manner  to  them  all  was 
due  to  affection,  and  how  much  to  kindliness' 
and  good  spirits?  How  much  did  he  care  for 
those  other  friends,  for  that  other  life  in  Paris? 
Who  were  the  friends?  What  was  the  life? 
She  looked  at  him,  it  seemed  to  her,  a  long  time. 
Had  he  ever  loved  a  woman?  Was  he  still  in 
love,  perhaps,  with  some  one?  Ruth  was  no 
child.  But  she  was  a  lady,  and  a  proud  one. 
There  were  things  she  did  not  choose  to  think 
about,  although  she  knew  of  their  existence  well 


226  IN  THE  QUARTER 

enough.  She  brought  herself  up  at  this  point, 
with  a  sharp  pull,  and  just  then  Gethryn,  open 
ing  his  eyes,  smiled  at  her. 

She  turned  quickly  away;  to  her  perfect  con 
sternation  her  cheeks  grew  hot.  Bewildered  by 
her  own  confusion,  she  rose  as  she  turned,  and 
saying  how  lovely  the  water  looked,  went  and 
stood  on  the  bridge,  leaning  over.  Rex  was  on 
his  feet  in  an  instant,  so  covered  with  confusion 
too,  that  he  never  saw  hers. 

"I  say  Ruth,  I  haven't  been  such  a  brute  as 
to  fall  asleep!  Indeed  I  haven't!  I  was  think 
ing  of  Braith." 

"And  if  you  had  fallen  asleep  you  wouldn't 
be  a  brute,  you  tired  boy!  And  who  is  Braith?" 

Ruth  turned  smiling  to  meet  him,  restored  to 
herself,  and  thankful  for  the  diversion. 

"Braith,"  said  Rex  earnestly.  "Braith  is  the 
best  man  in  this  wicked  world,  and  my  dearest 
friend.  To  whom,"  he  added,  "I  have  not  writ 
ten  one  word  since  I  left  him  two  years 
ago." 

Ruth's  face  fell.  "Is  that  the  way  you  treat 
your  dearest  friends?"— and  she  thought:  "No 
wonder  one  is  neglected  when  one  is  only  an 


IN  THE  QUARTER  227 

old  playmate!" — but  she  was  instantly  ashamed 
of  the  little  bitterness,  and  put  it  aside. 

"Ah!  you  don't  know  of  what  we  are  ca 
pable,"  said  Gethryn;  and  once  more  a  shadow 
fell  on  his  face. 

A  familiar  form  came  jauntily  down  the  road. 
Ruth  hastened  to  meet  it.  "At  last,  Father! 
You  want  your  luncheon,  poor  dear!" 

"I  do  indeed,  Daisy!" 

The  colonel  came  as  gallantly  up  as  if  he  had 
thirty  pounds  of  trout  to  show  instead  of  a 
creel  that  contained  nothing  but  a  novel  by  the 
newest  and  wickedest  master  of  French  fiction. 
He  made  a  mild  attempt  to  perjure  himself  about 
a  large  fish  that  had  somehow  got  away  from 
him,  but  desisted  and  merely  added  that  a  caning 
would  be  good  for  Rex. 

Tired  he  certainly  was,  and  when  he  was 
seated  on  the  log  and  Ruth  was  bringing  him 
his  wine,  he  looked  sharply  at  her  and  said, 
"You  too,  Daisy;  you've  done  enough  for  the 
first  day.  We'll  go  home  by  the  road." 

"It  is  what  I  was  just  proposing  to  her,"  said 
Rex. 

"Yes,  you  are  both  right,"  said  Ruth.  "lam 
tired." 


228  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"And  happy?"  laughed  Rex.  But  perhaps 
Ruth  did  not  hear,  for  she  spoke  at  the  same 
time  to  her  father. 

"Dear,  you  haven't  told  Rex  yet  how  you  got 
the  invitation  to  shoot." 

"Oh,  yes!  It  was  at  an  officers'  dinner  in 
Munich.  The  duke  was  there,  and  I  was  intro 
duced  to  him.  He  spoke  of  it  as  soon  as  they 
told  him  we  were  stopping  here." 

"He's  a  brick,"  said  Rex,  rising.  "Shall  we 
start  for  home,  Colonel?  Ruth  must  be  tired." 

When  they  turned  in  at  the  Forester's  door, 
the  colonel  ordered  Daisy  to  her  room,  where 
Mrs.  Dene  and  their  maid  were  waiting  to  make 
her  luxuriouslycomfortable  with  dry  things,  and 
rugs,  and  couches,  and  cups  of  tea  that  were 
certainly  not  drawn  from  the  Frau  Forster's 
stores.  Tea  in  Germany  being  more  awful  than 
tobacco,  or  tobacco  more  awful  than  tea,  ac 
cording  as  one  cares  most  for  tea  or  tobacco. 

The  colonel  and  Rex  sat  after  supper  under 
the  big  beech  tree.  Ruth,  from  her  window, 
could  see  their  cigars  alight,  and,  now  and  then, 
hear  their  voices. 

Rex  was  telling  the  colonel   about    Braith,  of 


IN  THE  QUARTER  229 

whom  he  had  not  ceased  thinking  since  the  after 
noon.  He  went  to  his  room  early,  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  him. 

It  began:  "You  did  not  expect  to  hear  from 
me  until  I  was  cured.  Well,  you  are  hearing 
from  me  now,  are  you  not?" 

And  it  ended:  "Only  a  few  more  weeks,  and 
then  I  shall  return  to  you  and  Paris,  and  the 
dear  old  life.  This  is  the  middle  of  July.  In 
September  I  shall  come  back." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

After  the  colonel's  return,  Mr.  Blumenthal 
found  many  difficulties  in  the  way  of  that  social 
ease  which  was  his  ideal.  The  ladies  were 
never  to  be  met  with  unaccompanied  by  the 
colonel  or  Gethryn;  usually  both  were  in  attend 
ance.  If  he  spoke  to  Mrs.  Dene,  or  Ruth,  it 
was  always  the  colonel  who  answered,  and  there 
was  a  gleam  in  that  trim  warrior's  single  eye 
glass  which  did  not  harmonize  with  the  grave 
politeness  of  his  voice  and  manner. 

Rex  had  never  taken  Mr.  Blumenthal  so  seri 
ously.  He  called  him  "Our  Bowery  brother," 
and  "the  Gentleman  from  West  Brighton,"  and 
he  passed  some  delightful  moments  in  observing 
his  gruesome  familiarity  with  the  maids,  his 
patronage  of  the  grave  Jaegers,  and  his  fraternal 
attitude  toward  the  head  of  the  house.  It  was 
great  to  see  him  hook  a  heavy  arm  in  an  arm  of 
the  tall,  military  Herr  Forster,  and  to  see  the 

latter  drop  it. 

230 


IN  THE  QUARTER  231 

But  there  came  an  end  to  Rex's  patience. 

One  morning,  when  they  were  sitting  over 
their  coffee  out  of  doors,  Mr.  Blumenthal  walked 
into  their  midst.  He  wore  an  old  flannel  shirt, 
and  trousers  too  tight  for  him,  inadequately  held 
up  by  a  strap.  He  displayed  a  tin  bait  box, 
and  a  red  and  green  float,  and  said  he  had  come 
to  inquire  of  Rex  "vere  to  dig  a  leetle  vorms," 
and  also  to  borrow  of  him  "dot  feeshpole  mitn 
seelbern  ringes." 

The  request,  and  the  grossness  of  his  appear 
ance  before  the  ladies  were  too  much  for  a  gen 
tleman  and  an  angler. 

Rex  felt  his  gorge  rise,  and  standing  up 
brusquely,  he  walked  away.  Ruth  thoughtlessly 
slipped  after  him,  and  murmured  over  his  shoul 
der: 

"Friend  of  yours?" 

Gethryn's  fists  unclenched  and  came  out  of 
his  pockets  and  he  and  Ruth  went  away  to 
gether,  laughing  under  the  trees. 

Mr.  Blumenthal  stood  where  Rex  had  left 
him,  holding  out  the  bait-box,  and  gazing  after 
them.  Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  the 
colonel  and  his  wife.  Perspiration  glistened  on 


232  IN  THE  QUARTER 

his  pasty,  pale  face,  and  the  rolls  of  fat  that 
crowded  over  his  flannel  collar.  His  little, dead, 
white-rimmed,  pale  gray  eyes  had  the  ferocity 
of  a  hog's  which  has  found  something  to  rend 
and  devour.  He  looked  into  their  shocked 
faces  and  made  a  bow: 

"Goot  ma-a-rnin,  Mister  and  Missess    Dene!" 
he  said  and  turned  his  back. 

The  elderly  couple  exchanged  glances,  as  he 
disappeared. 

"We  won't  mention  this  to  the  children,"  said 
the  gentle  old  lady. 

That  was  the  last  they  saw  of  him.  Nobody 
knew  where  he  kept  himself  in  the  interval,  but 
about  a  week  later,  he  came  running  down  with 
a  valise  in  his  hand,  and  jumped  into  a  carriage 
from  the  "Green  Bear"  at  Schicksalsee,  which 
had  just  brought  some  people  out  and  was  re 
turning  empty.  He  forgot  to  give  the  usual 
"Trinkgeld"  to  the  servants,  and  a  lively  search 
in  his  room  discovered  nothing  but  a  broken 
collar  button  and  a  crumpled  telegram  in  French. 
But  Grethi  had  her  compensation  that  evening, 
when  she  led  the  conversation  in  the  kitchen, 
and  Mr.  Blumenthal  was  discussed  in  several 
South  German  dialects. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  233 

By  this  time  August  was  well  advanced,  but 
there  had  been  as  yet  no  "Jagd-partie,"  as  Sepp 
called  the  hunting  excursion  planned  with  such 
enthusiasm  weeks  before.  After  that  first  day 
in  the  trout  stream,  Ruth  not  only  suffered  more 
from  fatigue  than  she  had  expected,  but  the 
little  cough  came  back,  causing  her  parents 
to  draw  the  lines  of  discipline  very  tight  in 
deed. 

Ruth,  whose  character  seemed  made  of  equal 
parts  of  good  taste  and  reasonableness,  sweet 
temper  and  humor,  did  not  offer  the  least  op 
position  to  discipline,  and  when  her  mother  re 
marked  that  after  all  there  was  a  difference  be 
tween  a  school-girl  and  a  young  lady,  she  did  not 
deny  it.  The  colonel  and  Rex  went  off  once  or 
twice  with  the  Jaegers,  but  in  a  half-hearted 
way,  bringing  back  more  experience  than  game. 
Then  Rex  went  on  a  sketching  tour.  Then  the 
colonel  was  suddenly  called  again  to  Munich  to 
meet  some  old  army  men  just  arrived  from 
home,  and  so  it  was  not  until  about  a  week 
after  Mr.  Blumenthal's  departure  that  one  even 
ing,  when  the  Sennerins  were  calling  the  cows 
on  the  upper  Aim,  a  party  of  climbers  came  up 


234  IN  THE  QUARTER 

the  side  of  the  Red  Peak,  and  stopped  at  "Nani's 
Hutterl." 

Sepp  threw  down  the  green  sack  from  his 
shoulders  to  the  bench  before  the  door,  and 
shouted: 

"Nani!  du!  Nani!"     No  answer. 

"Marie  und  Josef!"  he  muttered;  then  raising 
his  voice,  again  he  called  for  Nani  with  all  his 
lungs. 

A  muffled  answer  came  from  somewhere 
around  the  other  side  of  the  house.  "Ja!  komm 
glei!"  And  then  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
sit  on  the  bench  and  watch  the  sunset  fade  from 
peak  to  peak  while  they  waited. 

Nani  did  not  come  "glei" — but  she  came  pretty 
soon,  bringing  with  her  two  brimming  milk-pails 
as  an  excuse  for  the  delay. 

She  and  Sepp  engaged  at  once  in  a  conver 
sation,  to  which  the  colonel  listened  with  feel 
ings  that  finally  had  to  seek  expression. 

"I  believe,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "that 
German  is  the  language  of  the  devil." 

"I  fancy  he's  master  of  more  than  one.  And 
besides,  this  isn't  German,  any  more  than  our 
mountain  dialects  are  English.  And  really," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  235 

Ruth  went  on,  "if  it  comes  to  comparing  dia 
lects,  it  seems  to  me  ours  can't  stand  the  test. 
These  are  harsh  enough.  But  where  in  the 
world  is  human  speech  so  ugly,  so  poverty- 
stricken,  so  barren  of  meaning  and  feeling,  and 
shade,  and  color,  and  suggestiveness  as  the 
awful  talk  of  our  rustics?  A  Bavarian,  a  Tyro- 
ler,  often  speaks  a  whole  poem  in  a  single  word, 
like—" 

"Do  you  think  one  of  those  poems  is  being 
spoken  about  our  supper  now,  Daisy?" 

"Sybarite!"  cried  Ruth,  with  that  tinkle  of 
fun  in  her  voice,  which  was  always  sounding 
between  her  and  her  parents;  "I  won't  tell  you." 
The  truth  was  she  did  not  dare  to  tell  her 
hungry  companions  that,  so  far  as  she  had  been 
able  to  understand  Sepp  and  Nani,  their  con 
versation  had  turned  entirely  on  a  platform 
dance,  which  they  called  a  "Schuh-plattl"—  and 
which  they  proposed  to  attend  together  on  the 
following  Sunday. 

But,  Sepp  having  had  his  gossip,  like  a  true 
South  German  hunter  man,  finally  did  ask  the 
important  question: 

"Ach!  supper!   du  lieber  Himmel!  there  was 


236  IN  THE  QUARTER 

little  enough  of  that  for  the  Herrschaften.  There 
was  black  bread  and  milk,  and  there  were  some 
Semmel,  but  those  were  very  old  and  hard." 

"No  cheese?" 

"Nein!" 

"No  butter?" 

"Nein!" 

"Coffee?" 

"Yes,  but  no  sugar." 

"Herr  Je !" 

When  Sepp  delivered  this  news  to  his  party 
they  all  laughed  and  said  black  bread  and  milk 
would  do.  So  Nani  invited  them  into  her  only 
room, — the  rest  of  the  "Hiitterl"  was  kitchen 
and  cow-shed, — and  brought  the  feast. 

A  second  Sennerin  came  with  her  this  time, 
in  a  costume  which  might  have  startled  them, 
if  they  had  not  already  seen  others  like  it.  It 
consisted  of  a  pair  of  high  blue  cotton  trousers 
drawn  over  her  skirts,  the  latter  bulging  all  round 
inside  the  jeans.  She  had  no  teeth,  and  there 
was  a  large  goiter  on  her  neck. 

"Good  Heavens!"  muttered  the  colonel,  set 
ting  down  his  bowl  of  milk  and  twisting  around 
to  stare  out  of  the  window  behind  him. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  237 

"Poor  thing!  she  can't  help  it!"  murmured 
Ruth. 

"No  more  she  can,  you  dear,  good  girl!"  said 
Rex,  and  his  eyes  shone  very  kindly,  Ruth 
caught  her  breath  at  the  sudden  beating  of  her 
heart. 

What  was  left  of  day-light  came  through  the 
little  window  and  fell  upon  her  face;  it  was  as 
white  as  a  flower,  and  very  quiet. 

Dusk  was  setting  in  when  Sepp  made  his  ap 
pearance.  He  stood  about  in  some  hesitation, 
and  finally  addressed  himself  to  Ruth,  as  the 
one  who  could  best  understand  his  dialect.  She 
listened  and  then  turned  to  her  father. 

"Sepp  doesn't  exactly  know  where  to  lodge  me. 
He  had  thought  I  could  stay  here  with  Nani— 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it!"  cried   the   colonel. 

"While,"  Ruth  went  on— "while  you  and  Rex 
went  up  to  the  Jaeger's  hut  above  there  on  the 
rocks.  He  says  it's  very  rough  at  the  Jagd- 
hutte." 

"Is  any  one  else  there?  What  does  Sepp 
mean  by  telling  us  now  for  the  first  time?"  de 
manded  the  colonel  sharply. 

"He  says  he  was  afraid  I  wouldn't  come  if  I 


23S  IN  THE  QUARTER 

knew  how  rough  it  was — and  that — "  added  Ruth, 
laughing — "he  says  would  have  been  such  a  pity! 
Besides,  he  thought  Nani  was  alone — and  I  could 
have  had  her  room,  while  she  slept  on  the  hay 
in  the  loft.  I'm  sure  this  is  as  neat  as  a  moun 
tain  shelter  could  be,"  said  Ruth— looking  about 
her,  at  the  high  piled  feather  beds,  covered  in 
clean  blue  and  white  check,  and  the  spotless 
floor,  and  the  snow  white  pine  table.  "I'd  like 
to  stay  here,  only  the — the  other  lady  has  just 
arrived  too! 

"The  lady  in  the  blue  over-alls?" 

"Yes  — and — "  Ruth  stopped,  unwilling  to 
say  how  little  relish  she  felt  for  the  society  of 
the  second  Sennerin.  But  Rex  and  her  father 
were  on  their  feet  and  speaking  together. 

"We  will  go  and  see  about  the  Jagd-hiitte. 
You  don't  mind  being  left  for  five  minutes?" 

"The  idea!  go  along,  you  silly  boys!" 

The  colonel  came  back  very  soon,  and  in  the 
best  of  spirits. 

"It's  all  right,  Daisy !  It's  a  dream  of  luxury !" 
and  carried  her  off,  hardly  giving  her  time  to 
thank  Nani  and  to  say  a  winningly  kind  word  to 
the  hideous  one,  who  gazed  back  at  her,  pitch- 


IN  TH£  QUARTER  230 

fork  in  hand,  without  reply.  No  one  will  ever 
know  whether  or  not  she  felt  any  more  cheered 
by  Ruth's  pleasant  ways  than  the  cows  did  who 
were  putting  their  heads  out  from  the  stalls 
where  she  was  working. 

The  dream  of  luxury  was  a  low  hut  of  two 
rooms.  The  outer  one  had  a  pile  of  fresh  hay 
in  one  corner,  and  a  few  blankets.  Some  of  the 
dogs  were  already  curled  up  there.  The  inner 
room  contained  two  large  bunks,  with  hay,  and 
rugs,  and  blankets;  a  bench  ran  where  the  bunks 
were  not,  around  the  sides;  a  shelf  was  above 
the  bunks;  there  was  a  cupboard,  and  a  chest 
and  a  table. 

"Why,  this  is  luxury,"  cried  Ruth. 

"Well — I  think  so  too.  I'm  immensely  re 
lieved.  Sepp  says  artists  bring  their  wives  up 
here  to  stay  over  for  the  sunrise.  You'll  do? 
Eh?" 

"I  should  think  so!" 

"Good!  then  Rex  and  I  and  Sepp  and  the 
Dachl," — he  always  would  say  "Dockles," — "will 
keep  guard  outside  against  any  wild  cows  that 
may  happen  to  break  loose  from  Nani.  Good 
night,  little  girl!  Suie  you're  not  too  tired?" 


240  M  THE  QUARTER 

Rex  stood  hesitating  in  the  open  door.  Ruth 
went  and  gave  him  her  hand.  He  kissed  it,  and 
she,  meaning  to  please  him  with  the  language 
she  knew  he  liked  best,  said,  smiling,  "Bonne 
nuit,  mon  ami!"  At  the  same  moment  her 
father  passed  her,  and  the  two  men  closed  the 
door  and  went  away  together.  The  last  glim 
mer  of  dusk  was  in  the  room.  Ruth  had  not 
seen  Gethryn's  face. 

"Bonne  nuit,  mon  ami!"  Those  tender,  half 
forgotten — no!  never,  never  forgotten  words! 
Rex  threw  himself  on  the  hay  and  lay  still,  his 
hands  clenched  over  his  breast. 

The  kindly  colonel  was  sound  asleep  when 
Sepp  came  in  with  a  tired  but  wagging  hound, 
from  heaven  knows  what  scramble  among  the 
higher  cliffs  by  star-light.  The  night  air  was 
chilly.  Rex  called  the  dog  to  his  side  and  took 
him  in  his  arms.  "We  will  keep  each  other 
warm,"  he  said,  thinking  of  the  pups.  And  Zim- 
bach  assenting,  with  sentimental  whines,  was 
soon  asleep.  But  Gethryn  had  not  closed  his 
eyes  when  the  Jaeger  sprang  up  as  the  day 
broke.  A  faint  gray  light  came  in  at  the  little 
window.  All  the  dogs  were  leaping  about  the 


IN  THE  QUARTER  241 

room.  Sepp  gave  himself  a  shake,  and  his 
toilet  was  made. 

"Colonel,"  said  Rex,  standing  over  a  bundle 
of  rugs  and  hay,  in  which  no  head  was  visible, 
"Colonel!  Sepp  says  we  must  hurry  if  we  want 
to  see  a  'gams'." 

The  colonel  turned  over.  What  he  said  was: 
"Damn  the  Gomps!"  But  he  thought  better  of 
that  and  stood  up  looking  cynical. 

"Come  and  have  a  dip  in  the  spring,"  laughed 
Rex. 

When  they  took  their  dripping  heads  out  of 
the  wooden  trough  into  which  a  mountain  spring 
was  pouring  and  running  out  again,  leaving  it 
always  full, — and  gazed  at  life  between  rubs  of 
the  hard  crash  towel,  it  had  assumed  a  kinder 
aspect. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  they  all  were  start 
ing  for  the  top,  Ruth  let  the  others  pass  her, 
and  pausing  for  a  moment  with  her  hand  on  the 
lintel,  she  looked  back  into  the  little  smoke- 
blackened  hut.  The  door  of  the  inner  room 
was  open.  She  had  dreamed  the  sweetest  dream 
of  her  life  there. 

Before  the  others  could  miss  her  she  was  be- 


242  IN  THE  QUARTER 

side  them,  and  soon  was  springing  along  in  ad 
vance,  swinging  her  alpenstock.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  had  the  wings  as  well  as  the  voice  of  a  bird. 

"Der  Jaeger  zieht  in  grunem  Wald 
Mitfrolichem  Halloh!" 

she  sang. 

Sepp  laughed  from  the  tip  of  his  feather 
to  the  tip  of  his  beard. 

"Wie'sgnadigeFraulein  hat  G'miith!"  he  said 
to  Rex. 

"What's  that?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"He  says,"  translated  Rex  freely,  "What  a 
lot  of  every  delightful  quality  Ruth  possesses!" 

But  Ruth  heard,  and  turned  about,  and  was 
very  severe  with  him.  "Such  shirking!  Trans 
late  me  Gemuth  at  once,  sir,  if  you  please!" 

"Old  Wiseboy  at  Yarvard  confessed  he 
couldn't  short  of  a  treatise,  and  who  am  I  to 
tackle  what  beats  Wiseboy?" 

"Can  you,  Daisy?"  asked  her  father. 

"Not  in  the  least,  but  that's  no  reason  for 
letting  Rex  off."  Her  voice  took  on  a  little  of 
the  pretty  bantering  tone  she  used  to  her  par 
ents.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  such  a  happy 
confidence  in  Rex's  presence. 


IN  THE  QUARTER.  243 

They  were  in  the  forest  now,  moving  lightly 
over  the  wet,  springy  leaves,  probing  cautiously 
for  dangerous,  loose  bowlders,  and  treacherous 
slides.  When  they  emerged,  it  was  upon  a  nar 
row  plateau ;  the  rugged  limestone  rocks  rose  on 
one  side,  the  precipice  plunged  down  on  the 
other.  Against  the  rocks  lay  patches  of  snow, 
grimy  with  dirt  and  pebbles;  from  a  cleft  the 
long  greenish  white  threads  of  "Peter's  beard" 
waved  at  them;  in  a  hollow  bloomed  a  thicket 
of  pink  Alpen-rosen. 

They  had  just  reached  a  clump  of  low  firs, 
around  the  corner  of  a  huge  rock,  when  a  rush  of 
loose  stones  and  a  dull  sound  of  galloping  made 
them  stop.  Sepp  dropped  on  his  face;  the 
others  followed  his  example.  The  hound  whined 
and  pulled  at  the  leash. 

On  the  opposite  slope,  some  twenty  Hirscn- 
cows  with  their  fawns  were  galloping  down  into 
the  valley,  carrying  with  them  a  torrent  of  earth 
and  gravel.  Presently  they  slackened  and 
stopped,  huddling  all  together  into  a  thicket. 
The  Jaeger  lifted  his  head  and  whispered 
"Stuck;"  that  being  the  complimentary  name 
by  which  one  designates  female  deer  in  German. 


244  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"All?"  said  Rex,  under  his  breath.  At  the 
same  moment  Ruth  touched  his  shoulder. 

On  the  crest  of  the  second  ridge,  only  a  hun 
dred  yards  distant,  stood  a  stag,  towering  in 
black  outline,  the  sun  just  coming  up  behind 
him.  Then  two  other  pairs  of  antlers  rose  from 
behind  the  ridge,  two  more  stags  lifted  their 
heads  and  shoulders  and  all  three  stood  sil 
houetted  against  the  sky.  They  tossed  and 
stamped,  and  stared  straight  at  the  spot  where 
their  enemies  lay  hidden. 

A  moment,  and  the  old  stag  disappeared;  the 
others  followed  him. 

"If  they  come  again,  shoot,"  said  Sepp. 

Rex  passed  his  rifle  to  Ruth.  They  waited  a 
few  minutes;  then  the  colonel  jumped  up. 

"I  thought  we  were  after  chamois!"  he 
grumbled. 

"So  we  are,"  said  Rex,  getting  on  his  feet. 

A  shot  rang  out,  followed  by  another.  They 
turned,  sharply.  Ruth,  looking  half  frightened, 
was  lowering  the  smoking  rifle  from  her  shoul 
der.  Across  the  ravine  a  large  stag  was  sway 
ing  on  the  edge;  then  he  fell,  and  rolled  to  the 
bottom.  The  hound,  loosed,  was  off  like  an 


IN  THE  QUARTER  245 

arrow,  scrambling  and  tumbling  down  the  side. 
The  four  hunters  followed,  somehow.  Sepp  got 
down  first,  and  sent  back  a  wild  Jcdel.  The 
stag  lay  there,  dead,  and  his  splendid  antlers 
bore  eight  prongs. 

When  Ruth  came  up  she  had  her  hand  on  her 
father's  arm.  She  stood  and  leaned  on  him, 
looking  down  at  the  stag.  Pity  mingled  with  a 
wild  intoxicating  sense  of  achievement  con 
fused  her.  A  rich  color  flushed  her  cheek,  but 
the  curve  of  her  lips  was  almost  grave. 

Sepp  solemnly  drew  forth  his  flask  of  Schnapps 
and  taking  off  his  hat  to  her,  drank  "  VVaidmann's 
Heil!"  a  toast  only  drunk  by  hunters  to  hunters. 

Gethryn  shook  hands  with  her  twenty  times, 
and  praised  her  until  she  could  bear  no  more. 

She  took  her  hand  from  her  father's  arm,  and 
drew  herself  up,  determined  to  preserve  her 
composure.  The  wind  blew  the  little  bright 
rings  of  hair  across  her  crimson  cheek,  and 
wrapped  her  kilts  about  her  slender  figure,  as 
she  stood,  her  rifle  poised  across  her  shoulder, 
one  hand  on  the  stock  and  one  clasped  below 
the  muzzle. 

"Are  you  laughing  at  me,  Rex?" 


246  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"You  know  I  am  not!" 

Never  had  she  been  so  happy  in  her  whole  life. 

The  game  drawn  and  hung,  to  be  fetched 
later,  they  resumed  their  climb,  and  hastened 
upward  toward  the  peak. 

Ruth  led.  She  hardly  felt  the  ground  be 
neath  her,  but  sprang  from  rock  to  moss,  and 
from  bowlder  to  bowlder,  till  a  gasp  from 
Gethryn  made  her  stop  and  turn  about. 

"Good  Heavens,  Ruth!  what  a  climber  you 
are!" 

•   And  now  the  colonel  sat  down  on  the  nearest 
stone  and  flatly  refused  to  stir. 

"Oh!  is  it  the  hip,  Father?" cried  Ruth,  hurry 
ing  back  and  kneeling  beside  him. 

"No,  of  course  it  isn't!  It's  indignation!" 
said  her  father  calmly  regarding  her  anxious 
face.  "If  you  can't  go  up  mountains  like  a 
human  girl,  you're  not  going  up  any  more  moun 
tains  with  me." 

"Oh!  I'll  go  like  a  human  snail  if  you  want, 
dear!  I've  been  too  selfish !  It's  a  shame  to 
tire  you  so!" 

"Indeed,  it  is  a  perfect  shame!"  cried  the 
colonel 


IN  THE  QUARTER  247 

Ruth  had  to  laugh.  "As  I  remarked  to  Rex, 
early  this  morning,"  her  father  continued,  ad 
justing  his  eye-glass,  "hang  the  Gomps!"  Rex 
discreetly  offered  no  comment.  "Moreover," 
the  colonel  went  on,  bringing  all  the  severity  his 
eye-glass  permitted  to  bear  on  them  both,  "I 
decline  to  go  walking  any  longer  with  a  pair  of 
lunatics.  I  shall  confide  you  both  to  Sepp,  and 
will  wait  for  you  at  the  upper  Shelter." 

"But  it's  only  indignation ;  it  isn't  the  hip, 
Father?"  said  Ruth,  still  hanging  about  him,  but 
trying  to  laugh,  since  he  would  have  her  laugh. 

He  saw  her  trouble,  and  changing  his  tone 
said  seriously,  "My  little  girl,  I'm  only  tired  of 
this  scramble,  that's  all." 

She  had  to  be  contented  with  this,  and  they 
separated,  her  father  taking  a  path  which  led  to 
the  right,  up  a  steep  but  well  cleared  ascent,  to 
a  plateau,  from  which  they  could  see  the  gable 
of  a  roof  rising,  and  beyond  that  the  tip  top 
rock,  with  its  white  cross  marking  the  highest 
point.  The  others  passed  to  the  left,  around 
and  among  huge  rocks,  where  all  the  hollows 
were  full  of  grimy  snow.  The  ground  was  des 
titute  of  trees,  and  all  shrubs  taller  than  the. 


248  IN  THE  QUARTER 

hardy  Alpen-rosen.  Masses  of  rock  lay  piled 
about  the  limestone  crags  that  formed  the  sum 
mit.  The  sun  had  not  yet  tipped  their  peak 
with  purple  and  orange,  but  some  of  the  others 
were  lighting  up.  No  insects  darted  about 
them;  there  was  not  a  living  thing  among  the 
near  rocks  except  the  bluish  black  salamanders, 
which  lay  here  and-  there,  cold  and  motionless. 

They  walked  on  in  silence;  the  trail  grew 
muddy,  the  ground  was  beaten  and  hatched  up 
with  small,  sharp  hoof  prints.  Sepp  kneeled 
down  and  examined  them. 

"Hirsch,  Reh,  and  fawn,  and  ja!  ja!  Sehen 
Sie?  Gams!" 

After  this  they  went  on  cautiously.  All  at 
once  a  peculiar  shrill  hiss,  half  whistle,  half  cry, 
sounded  very  near. 

A  chamois,  followed  by  two  kids,  flashed 
across  a  heap  of  rocks  above  their  heads,  and 
disappeared.  The  Jaeger  muttered  something, 
deep  in  his  beard. 

"You  wouldn't  have  shot  her?"  said  Ruth, 
timidly. 

"No,  but  she  will  clear  this  place  of  chamois, 
It's  useless  to  stay  here  now," 


IN  THE  QUARTER  249 

It  was  an  hour's  hard  pull  to  the  next  peak. 
When  at  last  they  lay  sheltered  under  a  ledge, 
grimy  snow  all  about  them,  the  Jaeger  handed 
his  glass  to  Ruth. 

"Hirsch  on  the  Kaiser  Aim,  three  Reh  by 
Nani's  Hutterl,  and  one  in  the  ravine,"  he  said, 
looking  at  Gethryn,  who  was  searching  eagerly 
with  his  own  glass.  Ruth  balanced  the  one  she 
held  against  her  alpen-stock. 

"Yes,  I  see  them  all— and— why,  there's  a 
chamois!" 

Sepp  seized  the  glass  which  she  held  toward 
him. 

"The  gracious  Fraiilein  has  a  hunter's  eye 
sight;  a  chamois  is  feeding  just  above  the 
Hirsch." 

"We  are  right  for  the  wind,  but  is  this  the 
best  place  ?"  said  Rex. 

"We  must  make  the  best  of  it,"  said  Sepp. 

The  speck  of  yellow  was  almost  imperceptibly 
approaching  their  knoll,  but  so  slowly  that  Ruth 
almost  doubted  if  it  moved  at  all. 

Sepp  had  the  glass,  and  declining  the  one  Rex 
offered  her  she  turned  for  a  moment  to  the  superb 
panorama  at  their  feet.  East,  west,  north  and 


250  IN  THE  QUARTER 

south  the  mountain  world  extended.  By  this 
time  the  snow  mountains  of  Tyrol  were  all 
lighted  to  gold  and  purple,  rose  and  faintest 
violet.  Sunshine  lay  warm  now  on  all  the  near 
peaks.  But  great  billowy  oceans  of  mist  rolled 
below  along  the  courses  of  the  Alp-fed  streams, 
and  deep  under  a  pall  of  heavy,  pale  gray  cloud 
the  Trauerbach  was  rushing  through  its  hidden 
valley  down  to  Schicksalsee  and  Todtstein. 
There  was  perfect  silence,  only  now  and  then 
made  audible  by  the  tinkle  of  a  distant  cow-bell, 
and  the  Jodel  of  a  Sennerin.  Ruth  turned  again 
toward  the  chamois.  She  could  see  it  now 
without  a  glass.  But  Sepp  placed  his  in  her 
hand. 

The  chamois  was  feeding  on  the  edge  of  a 
cliff,  moving  here  and  there,  leaping  lightly 
across  some  gully,  tossing  its  head  up  for  a  pre 
cautionary  sniff.  Suddenly  it  gave  abound  and 
stood  still,  alert.  Two  great  clumsy  "Hirsch- 
kuhe"  had  taken  fright  at  some  imaginary  danger, 
and  uttering  their  peculiar  half  grunt,  half  roar, 
were  galloping  across  the  aim,  in  half  real,  half 
assumed  panic,  with  their  calves  at  their  heels, 
elderly  female  Hirsch  is  like  a  timorous 


IN  THE  QUARTER  251 

granny,  who  loves  to  scare  herself  with  ghost 
stories, and  adores  the  sensation  of  jumping  into 
bed  before  the  robber  under  it  can  catch  her  by 
the  ankle. 

It  was  such  an  alarm  as  this  which  now  sent 
the  two  fussy  old  deer,  with  their  awkward,  long 
legged  calves,  clattering  away  with  terror-strick 
en  roars,  which  startled  the  delicate  chamois, 
and  for  one  moment  petrified  him.  The  next, 
with  a  bound,  he  fairly  flew  along  the  crest,  seem 
ing  to  sail  across  the  ravine  like  a  hawk,  and  to 
cover  distances  in  the  flash  of  an  eye.  Sepp 
uttered  a  sudden  exclamation,  and  forgot  every 
thing  but  what  he  saw.  He  threw  his  rifle  for 
ward,  there  was  a  sharp  click! — the  cartridge 
had  not  exploded.  Next  moment  he  remem 
bered  himself,  and  turned  ashamed  and  depre 
cating  to  Gethryn.  The  latter  laid  his  hand  on 
the  Jaeger's  arm  and  pointed.  The  chamois' 
sharp  ear  had  caught  the  click !  he  swerved  aside, 
and  bounded  to  a  point  of  rock  to  look  for  this 
new  danger.  Rex  tried  to  put  his  rifle  in 
Ruth's  hands.  She  pressed  it  back,  resolutely. 
"It  is  your  turn,"  she  motioned  with  her  lips, 
a.nd  drew  away  out  of  his  reach.  That  was  ng 


252  IN  THE  QUARTER 

time  for  argument.  The  Jaeger  nodded,  "Quick !" 
A  shot  echoed  among  the  rocks  and  the 
chamois  disappeared. 

"Is  he  hit?     Oh,  Rex!   did  you  hit  him?" 

"Ei!  Zimbach!"  Sepp  slipped  the  leash,  the 
hound  sprang  away,  and  in  a  moment  his  bell- 
like  voice  announced  Rex'  good  fortune. 

Ruth  flew  like  the  wind,  not  heeding  their 
anxious  calls  to  be  careful,  to  wait  for  help.  It 
was  not  far  to  go,  and  her  light,  sure  foot 
brought  her  to  the  spot  first.  When  Rex  and 
Sepp  arrived  she  was  kneeling  beside  the  dead 
chamois,  stroking  the  "beard"  that  waved  along 
its  bushy  spine.  She  sprang  up  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  Gethryn. 

"Look  at  that  beard, — Nimrod!"  she  said. 
Her  voice  rang  with  an  excitement  she  had  not 
shown  at  her  own  success. 

"It  is  a  fine  beard,"  said  Rex,  bending  over  it. 
His  voice  was  not  quite  steady.  "Herrlich!" 
cried  Sepp,  and  drank  the  "Waidmans*  Heil!" 
toast  to  him  in  deep  and  serious  draughts.  Then 
he  took  out  a  thong,  tied  the  four  slender 
hoofs  together,  and  opened  his  game  sack;  Rex 
helped  him  to  hoist  the  chamois  in,  and  onto 
his  broad  shoulders., 


IN  THE  QUARTER  253 

Now  for  the  upper  Shelter.  They  started  in 
great  spirits,  a  happy  trio.  Rex  was  touched 
by  Ruth's  deep  delight  in  his  success,  and  by 
the  pride  in  him  which  she  showed  more  than 
she  knew.  He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  full  of 
affection.  Sepp  was  assuring  himself,  by  all  the 
saints  in  the  Bavarian  Calendar,  that  here  was 
a  "Herrschaft"  which  a  man  might  be  proud  of 
guiding,  and  so  he  meant  to  tell  the  duke. 
Ruth's  generous  heart  beat  high. 

Their  way  back  to  the  path  where  they  had 
separated  from  Colonel  Dene  was  long  and  toil 
some.  Sepp  did  his  best  to  beguile  it  with  hun 
ter's  yarns,  more  or  less  true,  at  any  rate  just 
as  acceptable  as  if  they  had  been  proved  and 
sworn  to. 

Like  a  good  South  German,  he  hated  Prussia 
and  all  its  works,  and  his  tales  were  mostly  of 
Berliners  who  had  wandered  thither  and  been 
abused;  of  the  gentleman  who  had  been  told, 
and  believed  that  the  "gams"  slept  by  hooking 
its  horns  into  crevices  of  the  rock,  swinging  thus 
at  ease,  over  precipices;  of  another  whom 
Federl  once  deterred  from  going  on  the  moun 
tains  by  telling  how  a  chamois  if  enraged  charged 


254  IN  THE  QUARTER 

and  butted;  of  a  third  who  wept  home  glad  to 
have  learned  that^  the  chamois  produced  their 
peculiar  call  by  biinging  up  a  hind  leg  and 
whistling  through  the  hoof. 

It  was  about  half  past  two  in  the  afternoon, 
and  Ruth  began  to  be  very,  very  tired,  when  a 
Jodel  from  Sepp  greeted  the  "Hiitte"  and  the 
white  cross  rising  behind  it.  As  they  toiled  up 
the  steep  path  to  the  little  aim,  Ruth  said,  "I 
don't  see  Papa,  but  there  are  people  there."  A 
man  in  a  summer  helmet,  wound  with  a  green 
veil,  came  to  the  edge  of  the  wooden  platform 
and  looked  down  at  them;  he  was  presently 
joined  by  two  ladies,  of  whom  one  disappeared 
almost  immediately,  but  they  could  see  the 
other  still  looking  down  until  a  turn  in  the  path 
brought  them  to  the  bottom  of  some  wooden 
steps,  close  under  the  platform.  On  climbing 
these  they  were  met  at  the  top  by  the  gentle 
man,  hat  in  hand,  who  spoke  in  French  to 
Gethryn,  while  the  stout,  friendly  lady  held  out 
both  hands  to  Ruth,  and  cried,  in  pretty  broken 
English: 

"Ah!   dear  Mademoiselle!  ees  eet  possible  zat 
we  meet  a-h-gain!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  255 

"Madame  Bordier!"  exclaimed  Ruth,  and 
kissed  her  cordially  on  both  cheeks.  Then  she 
greeted  the  husband  of  Madame,  and  presented 
Rex. 

"But  we  know  heem!"  smiled  Madame;  and 
her  quiet,  gentlemanly  husband  added  in  French 
that  Monsieur  the  colonel  had  done  them  the 
honor  to  leave  messages  with  them  for  Miss 
Dene  and  Mr.  Gethryn, 

"Papa  is  not  here?"  said  Ruth,  quickly. 

Monsieur  the  colonel,  finding  himself  a  little 
fatigued,  had  gone  on  to  the  Jaeger-hiitte,  where 
were  better  accommodations. 

Ruth's  face  fell,  and  she  lost  her  bright  color. 

"But  no!  my  dear!"  said  Madame.  "Zere 
ees  nossing  ze  mattaire.  Your  fazzer  ees  quite 
veil,"  and  she  hurried  her  indoors. 

Rex  and  Monsieur  Bordier  were  left  together 
on  the  platform.  The  amiable  Frenchman  did 
the  honors  as  if  it  were  a  private  salon.  Mon 
sieur  the  colonel  was  perfectly  well.  But  per 
fectly!  It  was  really  for  Mademoiselle  that  he 
had  gone  on.  He  had  decided  that  it  would  be 
quite  too  fatiguing  for  his  daughter  to  return 
that  day  to  Trauerbach,  as  they  had  planned, 


25C  IN  THE  QUARTER 

and  he  had  gone  on  to  secure  the  Jagd-hiHte  for 
the  night  before  any  other  party  should  arrive. 

"He  watched  for  you  until  you  turned  into  the 
path  that  leads  up  here,  and  we  all  saw  that  you 
were  quite  safe.  It  is  only  half  an  hour  since 
he  left.  He  did  us  the  honor  to  say  that  Made 
moiselle  Dene  could  need  no  better  chaperon 
than  my  wife — Monsieur  the  colonel  was  a  little 
fatigued,  but  badly,  no." 

Monsieur  Bordier  led  the  way  to  the  usual 
spring  and  wooden  trough,  behind  the  house, 
and  while  Rex  was  enjoying  a  refreshing  dip, 
he  continued  to  chat. 

Yes,  as  he  had  already  had  the  honor  to  inform 
Rex,  Mademoiselle  had  been  his  wife's  pupil  in 
singing,  the  last  two  winters,  in  Paris.  Mon 
sieur  Gethryn,  perhaps,  was  not  wholly  unac 
quainted  with  the  name  of  Madame  Bordier? 

"Madame's  reputation  as  an  artist,  and  a  pro 
fessor  of  singing  is  world-wide,"  said  Rex  in  his 
best  Parisian,  adding: 

"And  you  then,  Monsieur,  are  the  celebrated 
manager  of  'La  Fauvette'?" 

The  manager  replied  with  a  politely  gratified 
bow. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  257 

"The  most  charming  theater  in  Paris,"  added 
Rex. 

"Ah!"  murmured  the  other,  "Monsieur  is  him 
self  an  artist,  though  not  of  our  sort,  and  artists 
know." 

"Colonel  Dene  has  told  you  that  I  am  study 
ing  in  Paris,"  said  Rex  modestly. 

"He  has  told  me  that  Monsieur  exhibited  in 
the  salon  with  a  number  one." 

Rex  scrubbed  his  brown  and  rosy  cheeks  with 
the  big  towel. 

Monsieur  Bordier  went  on:  "But  the  talent 
of  Mademoiselle!  Mon  Dieu!  what  a  talent! 
What  a  voice  of  silver  and  crystal!  And  to-day 
she  will  meet  another  pupil  of  Madame — of  ours 
— a  genius.  My  word!" 

"To-day?" 

"Yes,  she  is  with  us  here.  She  makes  her 
debut  at  the  Fauvette  next  autumn." 

Rex  concealed  a  frown  in  the  ample  folds  of 
the  towel.  It  crossed  his  mind  that  the  colonel 
might  better  have  stayed  and  taken  care  of  his 
own  daughter.  If  he,  Rex,  had  had  a  sister, 
would  he  have  liked  her  to  be  on  a  Bavarian 
mountain  top  in  a  company  composed  of  a  game- 


258  IN  THE  QUARTER. 

keeper,  the  manager  of  a  Paris  theater  and  his 
wife,  and  a  young  person  who  was  about  to  make 
her  debut  in  opera-bouffe,  and  to  have  no  better 
guardian  than  a  roving  young  art  student?  Rex 
felt  his  unfitness  for  the  post  with  a  pang  of  com 
punction.  Meantime  he  rubbed  his  head,  and 
Monsieur  Bordier  talked  tranquilly  on.  But  be 
tween  vexation  and  friction  Gethryn  lost  the 
thread  of  Monsieur's  remarks  for  awhile. 

The  first  word  which  recalled  his  wandering 
attention  was  "Chamois?"  and  he  saw  that  Mon 
sieur  Bordier  was  pointing  to  the  game  bag  and 
looking  amiably  at  Sepp,  who,  divided  between 
sulkiness  at  Monsieur's  native  language  and  good 
will  toward  any  one  who  seemed  to  be  accepted 
by  his  "Herrschaften,"  was  in  two  minds,  whether 
to  open  the  bag  and  show  the  game  to  this  smil 
ing  Frenchman,  or  "to  say  him  a  Grobheit"  and 
go  away.  Sepp's  "Grobheit"  could  be  very  in 
sulting  indeed  when  he  cared  to  make  it  so.  Rex 
hastened  to  turn  the  scale. 

"Yes,  Herr  Director,  this  is  Sepp,  one  of  the 
duke's  best  game-keepers,  —  Monsieur  speaks 
German?"  he  interrupted  himself  to  ask  in 
French, 


IN  THE  QUARTER  259 

"Parfaitement!  Well,"  he  went  on  in  Sepp's 
native  tongue,  "Herr  Director,  in  Sepp  you  see 
one  of  the  best  woodsmen  in  Bavaria,  one  of 
the  best  shots  in  Germany.  Sepp,  we  must 
show  the  Herr  Director  our  Gems." 

And  there  was  nothing  for  Sepp  but  to  open 
the  bag,  sheepish,  beaten,  laughing  in  spite  of 
himself,  and  before  he  knew  it  they  all  three  had 
their  heads  together  over  the  game  in  perfect 
amity. 

A  step  sounded  along  the  front  platform,  and 
Madame  looked  round  the  corner  of  the  house, 
saying  that  lunch  was  ready.  Her  husband  and 
Rex  joined  her  immediately.  "Ze  young  ladees 
are  wizin,"  she  said  and  led  the  way. 

The  sun-glare  on  the  limestone  rocks  outside 
made  the  little  room  seem  almost  black  at  first, 
and  all  Rex  could  distinguish  as  he  followed  the 
others  was  Ruth's  bright  smile  as  she  stood 
near  the  door,  and  a  jumble  of  dark  figures 
farther  back. 

"Permit  me,"  said  Monsieur,  "to  introduce 
you  to  our  Belle  Helene."  Rex  had  already 
bowed  low,  seeing  nothing.  "Mademoiselle 
Descartes —Monsieur  Gethryn — "  Rex  raised 


260  IN  THE  QUARTER 

his  head  and  looked  into  the  white  face  of 
Yvonne. 

"Ah,  yes!  as  I  was  saying," gossiped  Monsieur 
while  they  were  taking  their  places  at  table,  "I 
shoot  when  I  can,  but  merely  the  partridge  and 
rabbit  of  the  turnip.  Bah!  a  man  may  not 
boast  of  that!" 

Rex  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker  and 
forced  himself  to  understand  what  was  being 
said. 

"But  the  sanglier?"  His  voice  sounded  in  his 
ears  like  noises  one  hears  with  the  head  under 
water. 

"Mon  Dieu!  the  sanglier!  yes,  that  is  also 
noble  game.  I  do  not  deny  it."  Monsieur 
talked  on  evenly  and  quietly  in  his  self-possessed, 
reasonable  voice,  about  the  habits  and  the  hunt 
of  the  wild-boar. 

Ruth,  sitting  opposite,  forcing  herself  to  swal 
low  the  food,  to  answer  Madame  gaily,  and  look 
at  her  ease,  felt  her  heart  settle  down  like  lead 
in  her  breast. 

What  was  this?  Oh!  what  was  it?  She 
looked  at  Mademoiselle  Descartes.  This  young, 
gentle  stranger,  with  the  dark  hair,  and  the  face 


IN  THE  QUARTER  261 

like  marble,  this  girl  whom  she  had  never  heard 
of  until  an  hour  ago,  was  hiding  from  Rex,  be 
hind  the  broad  shoulders  of  Madame  Bcrdier. 
The  pupils  of  her  blue  eyes  were  so  dilated  that 
the  sad,  frightened  eyes  themselves  looked  black, 
Ruth  turned  to  Gethryn.  He  was  listening  and 
answering.  About  his  nostrils  and  temples  the 
hollows  showed;  the  flush  of  sunburn  was  gone, 
leaving  only  a  pallid  brown  over  the  ashen  grey 
of  his  face;  his  expression  varied  between  a 
strained  smile  and  a  fixed  stare.  The  cold  weight 
at  her  heart  melted  and  swelled  in  a  passion  of 
pity. 

"Some  one  must  keep  up!  Some  one  must 
keep  up!"  she  said  to  herself;  and  turned  to 
assure  Madame  in  tones  which  deserved  the 
name  of  "crystal  and  silver,"  that,  Yes,  for  her 
part  she  had  not  been  able  to  see  any  reason 
why  hearing  Parsifal  at  Baireuth  should  make 
one  forget  that  Bizet  was  also  a  great  master. 

But  the  strain  became  too  great,  and  at  the 
first  possible  moment  she  said  brightly  to  Rex, 
"I'm  going  to  feed  Zimbach.  Sepp  said  I 
might."  She  collected  some  scraps  on  a  plate 
and  went  out.  The  hound  rose  wagging  as  she 


2C2  77V  THE  QUARTER 

approached.  Ruth  stood  a  moment  looking 
down  at  him.  Then  she  knelt  and  took  his 
brown  head  in  her  arms.  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  Zimbach  licked  her  face,  and  then 
wrenching  his  head  away,  began  to  dance  about 
her,  barking  and  running  at  the  platter.  She 
took  a  bone  and  gave  him;  it  went  with  a  snap; 
so  bit  by  bit  she  fed  him  with  her  own  hands, 
and  the  tears  dried  without  one  falling. 

She  heard  Rex  come  out  and  stood  up  to  meet 
him  with  clear  grey  eyes  that  seemed  to  see 
nothing  but  a  jest. 

"Look  at  this  dog,  Rex!  He  hasn't  a  word 
to  say  about  the  bones  he's  eaten  already;  he 
merely  remarks  that  there  don't  seem  to  be  any 
more  at  present!" 

Rex  was  taking  down  his  gun.  "Monsieur 
wants  to  see  this,"  he  said,  in  a  dull,  heavy 
voice.  "And  Ruth — when  you  are  ready — your 
father,  perhaps — " 

"Yes,  I  really  would  like  to  join  him  as  soon 
as  possible — "  They  went  in  together. 

An  hour  later  they  were  taking  leave.  All  the 
usual  explanations  had  been  made;  every  one 
knew  where  the  others  were  stopping,  and  why 


IN  THE  QUARTER  263 

they  were  there,  and  how  long  they  meant  to 
stay,  and  where  they  intended  to  go  afterward. 

The  Bordiers,  with  Yvonne,  were  at  a  lake  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  mountain,  but  a  visit 
to  the  Forester's  house  at  Trauerbach  was  one 
of  the  excursions  they  had  already  planned. 

It  only  remained  now,  as  Ruth  said,  to  fix 
upon  an  early  day  for  coming. 

The  hour  just  past  had  been  Ruth's  hour, 

Without  effort,  or  apparent  intention,  she  had 
taken  and  kept  the  lead,  from  the  moment  when 
she  returned  with  Rex.  She  it  was  who  had 
given  the  key,  who  had  set  and  kept  the  pitch, 
and  it  was  due  to  her  that  not  one  discordant 
note  had  been  struck.  Vaguely  yet  vividly  she 
felt  the  emergency.  Refusing  to  ask  herself  the 
cause,  she  recognized  a  crisis.  Something  was 
dreadfully  wrong.  She  made  no  attempt  to  go 
beyond  that.  Of  all  the  deep  emotions  which  she 
was  learning  now  so  suddenly,  for  the  first  time, 
the  dominant  one  with  her  at  present  was  a  de 
sire  to  help  and  to  protect.  All  her  social  ex 
perience,  all  her  tact,  were  needed  to  shield  Rex 
and  this  white-faced,  silent  stranger,  who 
without  her,  must  have  betrayed  themselves,  so 


264  IN  THE  QUARTER 

stunned,  so  dazed  they  were.  And  the  courage 
of  her  father's  daughter  kept  her  fair  head  erect 
above  the  dead  weight  at  her  heart. 

And  now,  having  said  "Au  revoir"  to  Monsieur 
and  Madame,  and  fixed  upon  a  day  for  their 
visit  to  the  Forsthaus,  she  turned  to  Yvonne 
and  took  her  hand. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  regret  so  much  to  hear  that 
you  are  not  quite  strong.  But  when  you  come 
to  Trauerbach,  Mama  and  I  will  take  such  good 
care  of  you  that  you  will  not  mind  the  fatigue." 

The  sad  blue  eyes  looked  into  the  clear  grey 
ones,  and  once  more  Ruth  responded  with  a 
passion  of  grief  and  pity. 

How  Rex  made  his  adieux  Ruth  never  knew. 

When  he  overtook  her,  she  and  Sepp  were 
well  started  down  the  path  to  the  Jagd-hiitte. 
They  seemed  to  be  having  a  duette  of  silence, 
which  Rex  turned  into  a  trio  when  he  joined 
them. 

For  such  walkers  as  they  all  were  the  distance 
they  had  to  go  was  nothing.  Soft  afternoon 
lights  were  still  lying  peacefully  beside  the  long 
afternoon  shadows  as  they  approached  the  little 
hut,  and  Sepp  answered  the  colonel's  abortive 


IN  THE  QUARTER  265 

attempt  at  a  Jodel  with  one  so  long  and  com 
plicated  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  taking  that 
means  to  express  all  he  should  have  liked  to  say 
in  words.  The  spell  broken,  he  turned  about 
and  asked: 

"Also!  what  did  the  French  people," — he 
wouldn't  call  them  "Herrschaft,"— "say  to  the 
gracious  Fraulein's  splendid  shot?" 

Ruth  stopped  and  looked  absently  at  him, 
then  flushed  and  recovered  herself  quickly.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  remembered  her  stag. 

"I  fear,"  said  she,  "that  French  people  would 
disapprove  a  young  lady's  shooting.  I  did  not 
tell  them." 

Sepp  went  on  again  with  long  strides.  The 
four  little  black  hoofs  of  the  chamois  stuck  piti 
fully  up  out  of  the  bag  on  his  broad  back. 
When  he  was  well  out  of  hearing  he  growled 
aloud: 

"Hab"  's  schon  g'  wusst !  Jesses,  Marie  and 
Josef!  was  is  denn  dos!" 

That  evening  when  Rex  and  the  Jaeger  were 
fussing  over  the  chamois'  beard  and  dainty 
horns,  inside  the  Hiitte,  Ruth  and  her  father 
stood  without,  before  the  closed  door.  The  skies 


266  IN  THE  QUARTER 

were  almost  black,  and  full  of  stars.  Through 
the  wide  fragrant  stillness  came  up  now  and 
then  a  Jodel  from  some  Bursch  going  to  visit 
his  Sennerin.  A  stamp,  and  a  comfortable  sigh 
came  at  times  from  Nani's  cows  in  their  stall 
below. 

Ruth  put  both  arms  around  her  father's  neck 
and  laid  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder. 

"Tired,  Daisy?" 

"Yes,  dear." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Supper  was  over,  evening  had  fallen;  but 
there  would  be  no  music  to  night  under  the 
beech-tree;  the  sky  was  obscured  by  clouds  and 
a  wet  wind  was  blowing. 

Mrs.  Dene  and  Ruth  were  crossing  the  hall; 
Gethryn  came  in  at  the  front  door  and  they  met. 

"Well?"  said  Rex,  forcing  a  smile. 

"Well,"  said  Ruth.  "Mademoiselle  Descartes 
is  better.  Madame  will  bring  her  down-stairs 
by  and  by.  It  appears  that  wretched  peasant 
who  drove  them  has  been  carrying  them  about 
for  hours  from  one  inn  to  another,  stopping  to 
drink  at  all  of  them.  No  wonder  they  were 
tired  out  with  the  worry  and  his  insolence!" 

"It  appears  Miss  Descartes  has  had  attacks 
of  fainting  like  this  more  than  once  before.  The 
doctor  in  Paris  thinks  there  is  some  weakness 
of  the  heart,  but  forbids  her  being  told  "  said 
Mrs.  Dene. 

Ruth  interposed  quickly,  not  looking  at  Geth 
ryn: 

207 


268  IN  THE  QUARTER 


it' 


Tapa  and  Monsieur  Bordier,  where  are  they?" 

"I  left  them  visiting  Federl  and  Sepp  in  their 
quarters." 

"Well,  you  will  find  us  in  that  dreadful  little 
room  yonder.  It's  the  only  alternative  to  sit 
ting  in  the  Bauernstube  with  all  the  wood-chop 
pers,  and  their  bad  tobacco,  since  out  of  doors 
fails  us.  We  must  go  now  and  make  it  as  pleas 
ant  as  we  can." 

Ruth  made  a  motion  to  go,  but  Mrs.  Dene 
lingered.  Her  kind  eyes,  her  fair  little  faded 
face,  were  troubled. 

"Madame  Bordier  says  the  young  lady  tells  her 
she  has  met  you  before,  Rex." 

"Yes,  in  Paris;"  for  his  life  he  could  not  have 
kept  down  the  crimson  flush  that  darkened  his 
cheeks  and  made  his  temples  throb. 

Mrs.  Dene's  manner  grew  a  little  colder. 

"She  seems  very  nice.  You  knew  her  people, 
of  course." 

"No.  I  never  met  any  of  her  people,"  an 
swered  Rex,  feeling  like  a  kicked  coward.  Ruth 
interposed  once  more. 

"People !"  said  Ruth,  impatiently.  "Of  course 
Rex  only  knows  nice  people.  Come,  mother!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  2G9 

Putting  her  arm  around  the  old  lady,  she  moved 
across  the  hall  with  decision.  As  they  passed 
into  the  cheerless  little  room,  Rex  held  open  the 
door.  Ruth,  entering  after  her  mother,  looked 
in  his  face.  It  had  grown  thinner;  shadows 
were  deep  in  the  temples;  from  the  dark  circles 
under  the  eyes  to  the  chin  ran  a  line  of  pain. 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  He  bent  and 
kissed  it. 

He  went  and  stood  in  the  porch,  trying  to 
collect  his  thoughts.  The  idea  of  this  meeting 
between  Ruth  and  Yvonne  was  insupportable. 
Why  had  he  not  taken  means — any,  every 
means  to  prevent  it?  He  cursed  himself.  He 
called  himself  a  coward.  He  wondered  how 
much  Ruth  divined.  The  thought  shamed  him 
until  his  cheeks  burned  again.  And  all  the  while 
a  deep  under-current  of  feeling  was  setting  to 
ward  that  drooping  little  figure  in  black,  as  he 
had  seen  it  for  a  moment  when  she  alighted 
from  the  carriage  and  was  supported  to  a  room 
upstairs.  Heavens!  How  it  reminded  him  of 
that  first  day  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde !  Why 
was  she  in  mourning?  What  did  the  doctor 
mean  by  "weakness  of  the  heart?"  What  was 


270  /A/  THE  QUARTER 

she  doing  on  mountain  tops,  and  on  the  stage 
of  a  theater  if  she  had  heart  disease  ?  He  started 
with  a  feeling  that  he  must  go  and  put  a  stop 
to  all  this  folly.  Then  he  remembered  the  let 
ter.  She  had  told  him  another  man  had  the 
right  to  care  for  her.  Then  she  was  at  this 
moment  deserted  for  the  second  time,  as  well 
as  faithless  to  still  another  lover! — To  how 
many  more?  And  it  was  through  him  that  a 
woman  of  such  a  life  was  brought  into  contact 
with  Ruth!  And  Ruth's  parents  had  trusted 
him;  they  thought  him  a  gentleman.  His  brain 
reeled. 

The  surging  waves  of  shame  and  self-con 
tempt  subsided,  were  forgotten.  He  heard  the 
wind  sough  in  the  Luxembourg  trees,  he  smelled 
the  pink  flowering  chestnuts,  a  soft  voice  was 
in  his  ear,  a  soft  touch  on  his  arm,  her  breath 
on  his  cheek,  the  old,  old  faces  came  crowding 
up.  Clifford's  laugh  rang  faintly,  Braith's  grave 
voice;  odd  bits  and  ends  of  song  floated  out  from 
the  shadows  of  that  past,  and  through  the 
troubled  dream  of  face  and  laugh  and  music,  so 
long,  so  long  passed  away,  he  heard  the  gentle 
voice  of  Yvonne:  "Rex,  Rex,  be  true  to  me;  I 
will  come  back!" 


IN  TH&     UARTS  2?j 


"I  loved  her!"  he  muttered. 

There  was  a  stir,  a  door  opened  and  shut, 
voices  and  steps  sounded  in  the  room,  on  his  left. 
He  leaned  forward  a  little  and  looked  through 
the  uncurtained  window. 

It  was  a  bare  and  dingy  room  containing  only 
a  table,  some  hard  chairs,  and  an  old  "Fliigel" 
piano,  with  a  long  inlaid  case. 

They  sat  together  at  the  table.  Ruth's  back 
was  toward  him;  she  was  speaking.  Yvonne 
was  in  the  full  light.  Her  eyes  were  cast  down, 
and  she  was  nervously  plaiting  the  edge  of  her 
little  black-bordered  handkerchief.  All  at  once 
she  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  straight  at  the 
window.  How  blue  her  eyes  were! 

Rex  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Oh  God!      I  love  her!"  he  groaned. 

uGute  Nacht,  gnadige  Herrn!" 

Sepp  and  Federl  stood  in  their  door  with  a 
light.  Two  figures  were  coming  down  from  the 
Jaeger's  cottage.  Gethryn  recognized  the 
colonel  and  Monsieur  Bordier. 

At  the  risk  of  scrutiny  from  those  cool,  elder 
ly,  masculine  eyes,  Rex's  manhood  pulled  itself 
together.  He  went  back  to  meet  them,  and 


272  M  THE  QUARTER 

presently  they  all  joined  the  ladies  in  the  apology 
for  a  parlor,  where  coffee  was  being  served. 

Coming  in  after  the  older  men,  Rex  found  no 
place  left  in  the  little,  crowded  room,  excepting 
one  at  the  table  close  beside  Yvonne.  Ruth 
was  on  the  other  side.  He  went  and  took  the 
place,  self-possessed  and  smiling. 

Yvonne  made  a  slight  motion  as  if  to  rise  and 
escape.  Only  Rex  saw  it.  Yes,  one  more, 
Ruth  saw  it. 

"Mademoiselle  has  studied  seriously  since  I 
had  the  honor — " 

"Oui,  Monsieur." 

Her  faint  voice  and  timid  look  were  more 
than  Ruth  could  bear.  She  leaned  forward  so 
as  to  shield  the  girl  as  much  as  possible,  and 
entered  into  the  lively  talk  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table. 

Rex  spoke  again:  "Mademoiselle  is  quite 
strong,  I  trust, — the  stage — Sugar?  Allow  me! 
— As  I  was  saying,  the  stage  is  a  calling  which 
requires  a  good  constitution."  No  answer. 

"But  pardon.  If  you  are  not  strong,  how  can 
you  expect  to  succeed  in  your  career?"  persisted 
Rex.  His  eyes  rested  on  one  frail  wrist  in  its 


IN  THE  QUARTER  273 

black  sleeve.  The  sight  filled  him  with  an 
ger. 

"I  would  make  my  debut  if  I  knew  it  would 
kill  me."  She  spoke  at  last,  low,  but  clearly. 

"But  why?     Mon  Dieu!" 

"Madame  has  set  her  heart  on  it.  She  thinks 
I  shall  do  her  credit.  She  has  been  good  to 
me,  so  good!"  The  sad  voice  fainted  and  sank 
away. 

"One  is  good  to  one's  pupils  when  they  are 
going  to  bring  one  fame,"  said  Rex  bitterly. 

"Madame  took  me  when  she  did  not  know  I 
had  a  voice; — when  she  thought  I  was  dying;  — 
when  I  was  homeless; — two  years  ago." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Rex  sternly,  sink 
ing  his  voice  below  the  pitch  of  the  general  con 
versation.  "What  did  you  tell  me  in  your  let 
ter?  Homeless!" 

"I  never  wrote  you  any  letter."  Yvonne  raised 
her  blue  eyes,  startled,  despairing,  and  looked 
into  his  for  the  first  time. 

"You  did  not  write  that  you  had  found  a — a 
home  which  you  preferred  to — to — any  you  had 
ever  had?  And  that  it  would  be  useless  to— - 
to  offer  you  any  other?" 


274  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"I  never  wrote.  I  was  very  ill  and  could  not. 
Afterward  I  went  to — you.  You  were  gone." 
Her  low  voice  was  heart-breaking  to  hear. 

"When?"     Rex  could  hardly  utter  a  word. 

"In  June,  as  soon  as  I  left  the  hospital." 

"The  hospital?     And  your  mother?" 

"She  was  dead.  I  did  not  see  her.  Then  I  was 
very  ill,  along  time.  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  went 
to  Paris." 

"To  me?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  letter?" 

"Ah!"-cried  Yvonne  with  a  shudder.  "It  must 
have  been  my  sister  who  did  that!" 

The  room  was  turning  round.  A  hundred 
lights  were  swaying  about  in  a  crowd  of  heads. 
Rex  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  the  table  to  steady 
himself.  With  a  strong  effort  at  self-control  he 
had  reduced  the  number  of  lights  to  two,  and 
got  the  people  back  in  their  places,  when  with 
a  little  burst  of  French  exclamations  and  laugh 
ter  every  one  turned  to  Yvonne,  and  Ruth  bend 
ing  over  her  took  both  her  hands. 

The  next  moment  Monsieur  Bordier  was  lead 
ing  her  to  the  piano. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  275 

A  soft  chord,  other  chords,  deep  and  sweet, 
and  then  the  dear  voice: 

"Oui  c'est  un  reve, 

Un  reve  doux  d'amour, 

La  nuit  lui  prete  son  mystere." 

The  chain  is  forged  again.  The  mists  of  pas 
sion  rise  thickly,  heavily,  and  blot  out  all  else 
forever. 

He"lene's  song  ceased.  He  heard  them  praise 
her,  and  heard  "Good-nights,"  and  "Aurevoirs" 
exchanged.  He  rose  and  stood  near  the  door. 
Ruth  passed  him  like  a  shadow.  They  all  re 
mained  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  for  a  moment, 
repeating  their  "Adieus,"  and  "Remerciements." 
He  was  utterly  reckless,  but  cool  enough  still  to 
watch  for  his  chance  in  this  confusion  of  civil 
ities.  It  came;  for  one  instant  he  could  whis 
per  to  her,  "I  must  see  you  to-night."  Then 
the  voices  were  gone,  and  he  stood  alone  on  the 
porch,  the  wet  wind  blowing  in  his  face,  his  face 
turned  up  to  a  heavy  sky  covered  with  black, 
driving  clouds.  He  could  hear  the  river,  and 
the  moaning  of  the  trees. 

It  seemed  as  if  he  had  stood  there  for  hours, 
never  moving.  Then  there  was  a  step  in  the 


276  IN  THE  QUARTER 

dark   hall,  on   the    threshold,  and    Yvonne    lay 
trembling  in  his  arms. 

The  sky  was  beginning  to  show  a  tint  of  early 
dawn  when  they  stepped  once  more  upon  the 
silent  porch.  The  wind  had  gone  down.  Clouds 
were  piled  up  in  the  west,  but  the  east  was  clear. 
Perfect  stillness  was  over  everything.  Not  a 
living  creature  was  in  sight,  excepting  that  far 
up,  across  the  stream,  Sepp  and  Zimbach  were 
climbing  toward  the  Schinder. 

"I  must  go  in  now.  I  must,  you— child!"  said 
Yvonne  in  her  old  voice,  smoothing  her  hair 
with  both  hands.  Rex  held  her  back. 

"My  wife?"  he  said. 

"Yes!"  She  raised  her  face  and  kissed  him 
on  the  lips,  then  clung  to  him  weeping. 

"Hush!  hush!  It  is  I  who  should  do  that," 
he  murmured,  pressing  her  cheek  against  his 
breast. 

Once  more  she  turned  to  leave  him,  but  he 
detained  her. 

"Yvonne,  come  with  me  and  be  married  to 
day!" 

"You  know  it  is  impossible.  To-day!  what  a 
boy  you  are!  As  if  we  could!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  277 

"Well  then, in  a  few  days,— in  a  week,  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"Oh!  my  dearest!  do  not  make  it  so  hard  for 
me!  How  could  I  desert  Madame  so?  After 
all  she  has  done  for  me?  When  I  know  all  her 
hopes  are  set  on  me;  that  if  I  fail  her  she  has 
no  one  ready  to  take  my  place!  Because  she 
was  so  sure  of  me,  she  did  not  try  to  bring  on 
any  other  pupil  for  next  autumn.  And  last  sea 
son  was  a  bad  one  for  her  and  Monsieur.  Their 
debutante  failed;  they  lost  money.  Behold  this 
child!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  rapid  return  to 
her  old  gay  manner,  "to  whom  I  have  explained 
all  this  at  least  a  hundred  times  already,  and  he 
asks  me  why  we  cannot  be  married  to-day!" 

Then  with  another  quick  change,  she  laid  her 
cheek  tenderly  against  his  and  murmured: 

"I  might  have  died  but  for  her.  You  would 
not  have  me  desert  her  so  cruelly,  Rex?" 

"My  love!  No!"  A  new  respect  mingled 
with  his  passion.  Yes,  she  was  faithful! 

"And  now  I  will  go  in!  Rex,  Rex,  you  are 
quite  as  bad  as  ever!  Look  at  my  hair!"  She 
leaned  lightly  on  his  shoulder,  her  old  laughing 
self, 


278  IN  THE  QUARTER 

He  smiled  back  sadly. 

"Again!  After  all!  You  silly,  silly  boy! 
And  it  is  such  a  little  while  to  wait!" 

"'Belle  Helene'  is  very  popular  in  Paris.  The 
piece  may  run  a  long  time." 

"Rex,  I  must.  Don't  make  it  so  hard  for 
me!"  Tears  filled  her  eyes. 

He  kissed  her  for  answer,  without  speak 
ing. 

"Think!  think  of  all  she  did  for  me;  saved 
me;  fed  me,  clothed  me,  taught  me,  when  she 
only  believed  I  had  voice  and  talent  enough  to 
support  myself  by  teaching.  It  was  half  a  year 
before  she  and  Monsieur  began  to  think  I  could 
ever  make  them  any  return  for  their  care  of  me. 
And  all  that  time  she  was  like  a  mother  to  me. 
And  now  she  has  told  every  one  her  hopes  of  me. 
If  I  fail  she  will  be  ridiculed.  You  know  Paris. 
She  and  Monsieur  have  enemies  who  will  say 
there  never  was  any  pupil,  nor  any  debut  ex 
pected.  Perhaps  she  will  lose  her  prestige.  The 
fashion  may  turn  to  some  other  teacher.  You 
know  what  malice  can  do  with  ridicule  in  Paris. 
Let  me  sing  for  her  this  once,  make  her  one 
great  success,  win  her  one  triumph,  and  then 


IN  THE  QUARTER  279 

never,  never  sing  again  for  any  soul  but  you, — 
my  husband!" 

Her  voice  sank  at  the  last  words,  from  its 
eager  pleading,  to  an  exquisite  modest  sweet 
ness. 

"But— if  you  fail?" 

"I  shall  not  fail.  I  have  never  doubted  that 
I  should  have  a  success.  Perhaps  it  is  because 
for  myself  I  do  not  care,  that  I  have  no  fear. 
When  I  had  lost  you  —I  only  thought  of  that. 
And  now  that  I  have  found  you  again — !" 

She  clung  to  him  in  passionate  silence. 

"And  I  may  not  see  your  debut?" 

"If  you  come  I  shall  surely  fail!  I  must  for 
get  you.  I  must  think  only  of  my  part.  What 
do  I  care  for  the  house  full  of  strange  faces?  I 
will  make  them  all  rise  up  and  shout  my  name. 
But  if  you  were  there, — Ah!  I  should  have  no 
longer  any  courage!  Promise  me  to  come  only 
on  the  second  night." 

"But  if  you  do  fail,  I  may  come  and  take  you 
immediately  before  Monsieur  the  Maire?" 

"If  you  please!"  she  whispered  demurely. 

And  they  both  laughed,  the  old  happy-chil 
dren  laugh  of  the  Atelier, 


280  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"I  suppose  you  are  bad  enough  to  hope  that 
I  will  fail,"  added  she  presently,  with  a  little 
moue. 

"Yvonne,"  said  Rex  earnestly,  "I  hope  that 
you  will  succeed.  I  know  you  will,  and  I  can 
wait  for  you  a  few  weeks  more." 

"  We  have  waited  for  our  happiness  two  years. 
We  will  make  the  happiness  of  others  now  first, 
n'est  ce  pas?"  she  whispered. 

The  sky  began  to  glow,  and  the  house  was 
astir.  Rex  knew  how  it  would  soon  be  talking, 
but  he  cared  for  nothing  that  the  world  could  do 
or  say. 

"Ah!  we  will  be  happy!  Think  of  it!  A  little 
house  near  the  Pare  Monceau,  my  studio  there, 
Clifford,  Elliott,  Rowden,  —  Bra — all  of  them 
coming  again!  And  it  will  be  my  wife  who  will 
receive  them!" 

She  placed  a  little  soft  palm  across  his  lips. 

"Taisez-vous,  mon  ami!  It  is  too  soon!  See 
the  morning!  I  must  go.  There!  yes — one 
more! — my  love,  Adieu!" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Fewer  tourists  and  more  hunters  had  been 
coming  to  the  Lodge  of  late;  the  crack  of  the 
•rifle  sounded  all  day.  There  was  great  talk  of 
a  hunt  which  the  duke  would  hold  in  Septem 
ber,  and  the  colonel  and  Rex  were  invited.  But 
though  September  was  now  only  a  few  days  off, 
the  colonel  was  growing  too  restless  to  wait. 

After  Yvonne's  visit,  he  and  Ruth  were  much 
together.  It  seemed  to  happen  so.  They  took 
long  walks  into  the  woods,  but  Ruth  seemed  to 
share  now  her  father's  aversion  to  climbing, and 
Gethryn  stalked  the  deer  with  only  the  Jaegers 
for  company. 

Ruth  and  her  father  used  to  come  home  with 
their  arms  full  of  wild  flowers, — the  fair,  lovely 
wild  blossoms  of  Bavaria,  which  sprang  up 
everywhere  in  their  path.  The  colonel  was  great 
company  on  these  expeditions,  singing  airs  from 
obsolete  operas  of  his  youth,  and  telling  stories 
of  La  Grange,  Brignoli  and  Amodio,  of  the. 


282  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Strakosches  and  Maretzeks,with  much  liveliness. 
Sometimes  there  would  be  a  silence,  however, 
and  then  if  Ruth  looked  up  she  often  met  his 
eyes.  Then  he  would  smile  and  say: 

"Well,  Daisy!"  and  she  would  smile  and  say: 

"Well,  dear!" 

But  this  could  not  last.  About  a  week  after 
Yvonne's  visit  the  colonel,  after  one  of  these 
walks,  instead  of  joining  Rex  for  a  smoke,  left 
him  sitting  with  Ruth  under  the  beech  tree,  and 
mounted  the  stairs  to  Mrs.  Dene's  room. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  he  rose  and  kissed 
his  wife,  who  had  been  sitting  at  her  window  all 
the  time  of  their  quiet  talk,  with  eyes  fixed  on 
the  young  people  below. 

"I  never  dreamed  of  it!"  said  he. 

"I  did,  I  wished  it,"  was  her  answer.  "I 
thought  he  was, — but  they  are  all  alike!"  she 
ended  sadly  and  bitterly.  "To  think  of  a  boy 
as  well  born  as  Rex — "  But  the  colonel,  who 
possibly  knew  more  about  well  born  boys  than 
his  wife  did,  interrupted  her: 

"Hang  the  boys!      It's  Ruth  I'm  grieved  for!" 

"My  daughter  needs  no  one's  solicitude,  not 
even  ours!"  said  the  old  lady  haughtily. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  2S3 

"Right!  Thank  God!"  said  the  veteran,  in 
a  tone  of  relief.  "Good-night,  my  dear!" 

Two  days  later  they  left  for  Paris. 

Rex  accompanied  them  as  far  as  Schicksalsee, 
promising  to  follow  them  in  a  few  days. 

The  handsome,  soldierly-looking  Herr  Forster 
stood  by  their  carriage  and  gave  them  a  "Gliick- 
liche  Reise!"  and  a  warm  "Auf  Wiedersehen!" 
as  they  drove  away.  Returning  up  the  steps 
slowly  and  seriously,  he  caught  the  eye  of  Sepp 
and  Federl,  who  had  been  looking  after  the 
carriage  as  it  turned  out  of  sight,  beyond  the 
bridge: 

"Schade!"  said  the  Herr  Forster,  and  went 
into  the  house. 

"Schade!"  said  Federl. 

"Jammer-schade!"  growled  Sepp. 

On  the  platform  at  Schicksalsee  Rex  and 
Ruth  were  walking  while  they  waited  for  the 
train.  "Ruth,"  said  Rex,  "I  hope  you  never 
will  need  a  friend's  life  to  save  yours  from  harm; 
but- if  you  do,  take  mine." 

"Yes,  Rex."  She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked 
into  the  distance.  Far  on  the  horizon  loomed 
the  Red  Peat 


284  IN  THE  QUARTER 

The  clumsy  mail  drew  up  beside  the  platform. 
It  was  the  year  when  all  the  world  was  running 
after  a  very  common-place  Operetta,  with  one 
lovely  stolen  song:  a  Volks-song.  One  heard 
it  everywhere,  on  both  continents;  and  now  as 
the  postillion,  in  his  shiny  hat,  with  the  cock 
ade,  his  light  blue  jacket,  and  white  small 
clothes,  and  his  curly  brass  horn,  came  rattling 
down  the  street,  he  was  playing  the  same 
melody. 

"Es  ist  im  Leben  hasslich  eingerichtet — " 

The  train  drew  into  the  station.  When  it 
panted  forth  again,  Gethryn  stood  waving  his 
hand,  and  watched  it  out  of  sight. 

Turning  at  last  to  leave  the  platform, he  found 
that  the  crowd  had  melted  away;  only  a  residue 
of  crimson-capped  officials  remained.  He  in 
quired  of  one  where  he  could  find  an  express 
man,  and  was  referred  to  a  mild  man  absorbing 
a  bad  cigar.  With  him  Gethryn  arranged  for 
having  his  traps  brought  from  Trauerbach  and 
consigned  to  the  brothers  Schnurr  at  the  "Gast- 
hof  zur  Post,"  Schicksalsee,  that  inn  being  close 
to  the  station. 

This  settled,  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  strolled 


IN  THE  QUARTER  285 

across  to  his  hotel,  sitting  down  on  a  stone  bench 
before  the  door,  and  looking  off  at  the  lake. 

It  was  mid-afternoon.  The  little  place  was 
asleep.  Nothing  was  stirring  about  the  inn  ex 
cepting  a  bandy  Dachshund,  which  came  wheez 
ing  up  and  thrust  a  cold  nose  into  the  young 
man's  hand.  High  in  the  air  a  hawk  was 
wheeling;  his  faint, querulous  cry  struck  Gethryn 
with  an  unwonted  sense  of  loneliness.  He 
noticed  how  yellow  some  of  the  trees  were  on 
the  slopes  across  the  lake.  Autumn  had  come 
before  summer  was  ended.  He  leaned  over 
and  patted  the  hound.  A  door  opened,  a  voice 
cried,  "Ei  Dachl!  du!  Dachl !"  and  the  dog 
made  off  at  the  top  of  his  hobby-horse  gait. 

The  silence  was  unbroken,  except  for  the 
harsh  cries  of  the  hawk,  sailing  low  now  in  great 
circles  over  the  lake.  The  sun  flashed  on  his 
broad  burnished  wings  as  he  stooped;  Gethryn 
fancied  he  could  see  his  evil  little  eyes;  finally 
the  bird  rose  and  dwindled  away,  lost  against 
the  mountain  side. 

He    was    roused    from   his  reverie  by  angry 
voices. 

"Cochon!      Kerl!      Menteur!"  cried  some  one. 


286  IN  THE  QUARTER 

The  other  voice  remonstrated  with  a  snarl. 

"Bah!"  cried  the  first,  "you  lie!" 

"Alsatians,"  thought  Rex;  "what  horrible 
French!" 

The  snarling  began  again,  but  gadually  lapsed 
into  whining.  Rex  looked  about  him. 

The  quarreling  seemed  to  come  from  a  small 
room  which  opened  out  of  the  hotel  restaurant. 
Windows  gave  from  it  over  the  front,  but  the 
blinds  were  down. 

"No!  No!  I  tell  you!  Not  one  sou! 
Starve?  I  hope  you  will!"  cried  the  first  voice, 
and  a  stamp  set  some  bottles  and  glasses  jingling. 

"Alsatians  and  Jews!"  thought  Rex.  One 
voice  was  unpleasantly  familiar  to  him,  and  he 
wondered  if  Mr.  Blumenthal  spoke  French  as 
he  did  English.  Deciding  with  a  careless  smile 
that  of  course  he  did,  Rex  ceased  to  think  of 
him,  not  feeling  any  curiosity  to  go  and  see  with 
whom  his  late  fellow-lodger  might  be  quarreling. 
He  sat  and  watched  instead,  as  he  lounged  in 
the  sunshine,  some  smart  carriages  whirling 
past,  their  horses  stepping  high,  the  lackeys 
mumed  from  the  mountain  air  in  winter  furs, 
crests  on  the  panels. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  2S7 

An  adjutant  in  green,  with  a  great  flutter  of 
white  cock's  feathers  from  his  chapeau,  sitting 
up  on  the  box  of  an  equipage,  accompanied  by 
flunkies  in  the  royal  blue  and  white  of  Bavaria, 
was  a  more  agreeable  object  to  contemplate  than 
Mr.  Blumenthal,  and  Gethryn  felt  as  much  per 
sonal  connection  with  the  Prince  Regent  hurry 
ing  home  to  Munich,  from  his  little  hunting  visit 
to  the  emperor  of  Austria,  as  with  the  wrangling 
Jews  behind  the  close-drawn  blinds  of  the  coffee- 
room  at  his  back. 

The  sun  was  slowly  declining.  Rex  rose  and 
idled  into  the  smoking-room.  It  was  deserted, 
but  for  the  clerk  at  his  desk,  a  railed  enclosure, 
one  side  of  which  opened  into  the  smoking-room, 
the  other  side  into  the  hall.  Across  the  hall  was 
a  door  with  "Cafe"—  Restaurant,"  in  gilt  letters 
above  it.  Rex  did  not  enter  the  cafe;  he  sat 
and  dreamed  in  the  empty  smoking  room  over 
his  cigarette. 

But  it  was  lively  in  the  cafe,  spite  of  the 
waning  season  A  good  many  of  the  tables 
were  occupied.  At  one  of  them  sat  the  three 
unchaperoned  Miss  Dashleighs,  in  company  with 
three  solemn,  high  shouldered  young  officers,  en- 


288  IN  THE  QUARTER 

joying  something  in  tall,  slender  tumblers  which 
looked  hot,  and  smelled  spicy.  At  another  table 
Mr.  Everett  Tweeler  and  Mrs.  Tweeler  were 
alternately  scolding  and  stuffing  Master  Irving 
Tweeler,  who  expressed  in  impassioned  tones  a 
desire  for  tarts. 

"Ur-r-ving!"  remonstrated  Mr.  Tweeler. 

"Dahling!"  argued  Mrs.  Tweeler.  "If  oo  eats 
too  many  'ittle  cakies  then  oo  tant  go  home  to 
Salem  on  the  puffy,  puffy  choo-choo  boat." 

Old  Sir  Griffin  Damby  overheard  and  snorted. 

When  Master  Tweeler  secured  his  tarts,  Sir 
Griffin  blessed  the  meal  with  a  hearty  "damn!" 

He  did  not  care  for  Master  Tweeler' s  nightly 
stomach  aches,  but  their  rooms  adjoined.  When 
"Ur-r-ving"  reached  unmolested  for  his  fourth, 
Sir  Griffin  rose  violently, and  muttering,  "Change 
me  room,  begad!"  waddled  down  to  the  door, 
glaring  aggressively  at  the  occupants  of  the  var 
ious  tables.  Near  the  exit  a  half  suppressed 
squeal  caused  him  to  swing  round.  He  had 
stepped  squarely  on  the  toe  of  a  meager  individ 
ual,  who  now  sat  nursing  his  foot,  in  bitter  de 
jection. 

"Pardon — "  began  Sir  Griffin,  then  stopped 
and  glared  at  the  sallow-faced  person. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  289 

Sir  Griffin  stared  hard  at  the  man  he  had 
stepped  on,  and  at  his  female  companion. 

"Damn  it!"  he  cried.  "Keep  your  feet  out  of 
the  way,  do  you  hear?"  puffed  his  cheeks,  squared 
his  shoulders  and  snorted  himself  out  of  the  caf£. 

The  yellow-faced  man  was  livid  with  rage. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Mannie,"  whispered  the 
woman;  "don't  make  a  row — do  you  know  who 
that  is?" 

"He's  an  English  hog,"  spluttered  the  man 
with  an  oath;  "he's  a  cursed  hog  of  an  English 
man!" 

"Yes,  and  he  knows  us.  He  was  at  Monaco 
a  few  summers  ago.  Don't  forget  who  turned 
us  out  of  the  Casino." 

Emanuel  Pick  turned  a  shade  more  sallow, 
and  sank  back  in  his  seat. 

Neither  spoke  again  for  some  moments.  Pres 
ently  the  woman  began  to  stir  the  bits  of  lemon 
and  ice  in  her  empty  tumbler.  Pick  watched 
her  sulkily. 

"You  always  take  the  most  expensive  drinks. 
Why  can't  you  order  coffee,  as  others  do?"  he 
snarled. 

She  glanced  at  him.      "Jew,"    she  sneered. 


200  /V  THE  QUARTER 

"All  right;  only  wait!  I've  come  to  the  end 
of  my  rope.  I've  got  just  money  enough  left 
to  get  back  to  Paris — " 

"You  lie,  Mannie!" 

He  paid  no  attention  to  this  compliment,  but 
lighted  a  cigar  and  dropped  the  match  on  the 
floor,  grinding  it  under  his  heel. 

"You  hava  ten  thousand  francs  to-day!  You 
lie  if  you  say  you  have  not." 

Mr.  Pick  softly  dropped  his  eyelids. 

"That  is  for  me,  in  case  of  need.  I  will  need 
it  too,  very  soon!" 

His  companion  glared  at  him,  and  bit  her  lip. 

"If  you  and  I  are  to  remain  dear  friends," 
continued  Mr.  Pick,  "we  must  manage  to  raise 
money,  somehow.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I 
do." 

Still  she  said  nothing,  but  kept  her  eyes  on 
his  face.  He  glanced  up,  and  looked  away  un 
easily. 

"I  have  seen  my  uncle  again.  He  knows  all 
about  your  sister  and  the  American.  He  says 
it  is  only  because  of  him  that  she  refuses  the 
handsome  offer." 

The    woman's  face  grew   tigerish,    and     she 


IN  THE  QUARTER  291 

nodded  rapidly,  muttering,  "Ah!  yes!   Mais  oui! 
the  American.      I  do  not  forget  him!" 

"My  dear  uncle  thinks  it  is  our  fault  that  your 
sister  refuses  to  forget  him,  which  is  more  to 
the  purpose,"  sneered  Pick.  "He  says  you  did 
not  press  that  offer  he  made  Yvonne  with  any 
skill,  else  she  would  never  have  refused  it  again; 
— that  makes  four  times,"  he  added.  "Four 
times  she  has  refused  an  establishment  and — " 

"Pst!  what  are  you  raising  your  voice  for?" 
hissed  the  woman.  "And  how  is  it  my  fault?" 
she  went  on. 

"I  don't  say  it  is.  I  know  better— who  could 
wish  more  than  we  that  your  sister  should  be 
come  the  mistress  of  my  dear  rich  uncle?  But 
when  I  tried  to  tell  him  just  now  that  we  had 
done  our  best,  he  raved  at  me.  He  has  guessed 
somehow  that  they  mean  to  marry.  I  did  not 
tell  him  that  we  too  had  guessed  it.  But  he 
said  I  knew  it,  and  was  concealing  it  from  him. 
I  asked  him  for  a  little  money  to  go  on  with. 
Curse  him,  he  would  not  lend  me  a  sou!  Said 
he  never  would  again — Curse  him!" 

There  was  a  silence,  while   Pick   smoked   on. 
The  woman  did  not  smoke  too,  because  she  had 


292  IN  THE  QUARTER 

no  cigarette,  and  Pick  did  not  offer  her  any. 
Presently  he  spoke  again. 

"Yes,  you  certainly  are  an  expensive  luxury, 
under  the  circumstances,  And  since  you  have 
so  mismanaged  your  fool  of  a  sister's  affair,  I 
don't  see  how  the  circumstances  can  improve." 

She  watched  him.  "And  the  ten  thousand 
francs?  You  will  throw  me  off  and  enjoy  them 
at  your  ease?" 

He  cringed  at  her  tone.  "Not  enjoy — with 
out  you — " 

"No,"  she  said  coolly,   "for  I  shall  kill  you." 

Mr.  Pick  smiled  uncomfortably.  "That  would 
please  the  American, "he  said, trying  to  jest,  but 
his  hand  trembled  as  he  touched  the  stem  of  his 
cigar-holder  to  shake  off  the  ashes. 

A  sudden  thought  leaped  into  her  face.  "-Why 
not  please — me — instead?"  she  whispered. 

Their  eyes  met.  Her  face  was  hard  and  bold 
— his,  cowardly  and  ghastly.  She  clenched  her 
hands  and  leaned  forward;  her  voice  was  scarcely 
audible.  Mr.  Pick  dropped  his  oily  black  head 
and  listened. 

"He  turned  me  out  of  his  box  at  the  Opera; 
he  struck  you — do  you  hear?  he  kicked  you!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  293 

The  Jew's  face  grew  chalky. 

"To-day  he  stands  between  you  and  your 
uncle,  you  and  wealth,  you  and  me!  Do  you 
understand?  Cowards  are  stupid.  You  claim 
Spanish  blood.  But  Spanish  blood  does  not 
forget  insults.  Is  yours  only  the  blood  of  a 
Spanish  Jew?  Bah!  Must  I  talk?  You  saw 
him?  He  is  here.  Alive.  And  he  kicked  you. 
And  he  stands  between  you  and  riches,  you 
and  me,  you  and — life!" 

They  sat  silent,  she  holding  him  fascinated 
with  her  little  black  eyes.  His  jaw  fallen,  the 
expression  of  his  loose  mouth  was  horrible. 
Suddenly  she  thrust  her  face  close  to  his.  Her 
eyes  burned  and  the  blood  surged  through  the 
distended  veins  under  the  cracking  rouge.  Her 
lips  formed  the  word,  "To-night!" 

Without  a  word  he  crept  from  his  seat  and  fol 
lowed  her  out  of  the  room  by  a  side  door. 

Gethryn  lounging  in  the  smoking-room  mean 
while,  was  listening  with  delight  to  the  bellow 
ing  of  Sir  Griffin  Damby,  who  stood  at  the  clerk's 
desk  in  the  hall. 

"Don't  contradict  me!"  he  roared;  —  the  weak- 
eyed  clerk  had  not  dreamed  of  doing  so, — "Don't 


294  IN  THE  QUARTER 

you  contradict  me!     I  tell  you   it's   the    same 
man!" 

"But  Excellence,"  entreated  the  clerk,  "we 
do  not  know — " 

"What!     Don't  know!     Don't  I  tell  you?" 

"We  will  telegraph  to  Paris—" 

"Telegraph  to  hell!  Where's  my  man?  Here! 
Dawson!  Do  you  remember  that  infernal  Jew 
at  Monaco?  He's  here.  He's  in  there!"  jerk 
ing  an  angry  thumb  at  the  cafe  door.  "Keep 
him  in  sight,  till  the  police  come  for  him.  If 
he  says  anything,  kick  him  into  the  lake." 

Dawson  bowed. 

The  clerk  tried  to  say  that  he  would  tele 
graph  instantly,  but  Sir  Griffin  barked  in  his 
face,  and  snorted  his  way  down  the  hall  followed 
by  the  valet. 

Rex,  laughing,  threw  down  his  cigarette,  and 
sauntered  over  to  the  clerk. 

"Whom  does  the  Englishman  want  kicked 
out?" 

The  clerk  made  a  polite  gesture,  asking  Rex 
to  wait  until  he  had  finished  telegraphing.  At 
that  moment  the  postillion's  horn  heralded  the 
coming  of  the  mail  coach,  and  that  meant  the 


IN  THE  QUARTER  295 

speedy  arrival  of  the  last  western  train.  Rex 
forgot  Sir  Griffin  and  strolled  over  to  the  post 
office  to  watch  the  distribution  of  the  letters  and 
to  get  his  own. 

A  great  deal  of  flopping  arid  pounding  seemed 
to  be  required  as  a  preliminary  to  postal  distri 
bution.  First  the  mail  bags  seemed  to  be 
dragged  all  over  the  floor,  then  came  a  long 
series  of  thumps,  while  the  letters  were  stamped, 
finally  the  slide  was  raised  and  a  face  the  color 
of  under-done  pie  crust,  with  little  angry  eyes, 
appeared.  The  owner  had  a  new  and  ingenious 
insult  for  each  person  who  presented  himself. 
The  Tweelers  were  utterly  routed,  and  went 
away,  not  knowing  whether  there  were  any  let 
ters  for  them  or  not.  Several  valets  and  ladies' 
maids  exchanged  lively  but  ineffectual  compli 
ments  with  the  face  in  the  post  office  window. 
Then  came  Sir  Griffin.  Rex  looked  on  with 
interest.  What  the  ill-natured  brute  behind  the 
grating  said,  Rex  couldn't  hear,  but  Sir  Griffin 
burst  out  with  a  roar,  "Damnation!"  that  made 
everybody  jump.  Then  he  stuck  his  head  as 
far  as  he  could  get  it  in  at  the  little  win 
dow,  and  shouted,  in  fluent  German,  awfully 


296  IN  THE  QUARTER 

pronounced,  "Here!  You!  It's  enough  that 
you're  so  stupid  you  don't  know  what  you're 
about.  Don't  you  try  to  be  impudent  too! 
Hand  me  those  letters!"  The  official  bully 
handed  them  over  without  a  word. 

Rex  took  advantage  of  the  lull,  and  stepped 
to  the  window.  "Any  letters  for  Mr.  Gethryn?" 

"How  you  spell  him?"     Rex  spelled  him. 

"Yet  once  again!"  demanded  the  intelligent 
person.  Rex  wrote  it  in  English  and  in  Ger 
man  script. 

"From  Trauerbach— Yes?" 

"Yes." 

The  man  went  away,  looked  through  two 
ledgers,  sent  for  another,  made  out  several  sets 
of  blanks,  and  finally  came  back  to  the  window, 
but  said  nothing. 

"Well?"  said  Rex,  pleasantly. 

"Well,"  said  the  man. 

"Anything  for  me?" 

"Nothing  for  you." 

"Kindly  look  again,"  said  Rex.  "I  know  there 
are  letters  for  me." 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  man  appeared  again, 
-"Well?"  said  Gethryn. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  297 

"Well,"  said  the  man. 

"Nothing  for  me?" 

"Something."  And  with  ostentatious  delay 
he  produced  three  letters  and  a  newspaper, 
which  Rex  took,  restraining  an  impulse  to  knock 
him  down.  After  all,  the  temptation  was  not 
very  great,  presenting  itself  more  as  an  act  of 
justice  than  as  a  personal  satisfaction.  The 
truth  was,  all  day  long  a  great  gentleness  tinged 
with  melancholy  had  rested  on  Gethryn's  spirit. 
Nothing  seemed  to  matter  very  much.  And 
whatever  engaged  his  attention  for  a  moment,  it 
was  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  his  thoughts 
returned  where  they  had  been  all  day. 

Yvonne,  Yvonne!  She  had  not  been  out  of 
his  thoughts  since  he  rose  that  morning.  In  a 
few  steps  he  reached  his  room,  and  read  his  let 
ters  by  the  waning  daylight. 

The  first  began: 

"My  Darling: — In  three  more  days  I  shall 
stand  before  a  Paris  audience.  I  am  not  one 
bit  nervous.  I  am  perfectly  happy.  Yesterday 
at  rehearsal  the  orchestra  applauded  and 
Madame  Bordier  kissed  me.  Some  very  droll 
things  happened,  Achilles  was  intoxicated  and 


298  IN  THE  QUARTER 

chased  Ajax  the  Less  with  a  stick.  Ajax  fled  into 
my  dressing-room,  and  although  I  was  not  there 
I  told  Achilles  afterward  that  I  would  never  for 
give  him.  Then  he  wept." 

The  letter  ran  on  for  a  page  more  of  lively 
gossip,  and  then  with  a  sudden  change,  ended: 

"But  why  do  I  write  these  foolish  things  to 
you?  Ah!  you  know  it  is  because  I  am  too 
happy!  too  happy!  and  I  cannot  say  what  is  in 
my  heart.  I  dare  not.  It  is  too  soon.  I  dare 
not! 

"If  it  is  that  I  am  happy,  who  but  you  knows 
the  reason?  And  now  listen  to  my  little  secret. 
I  pray  for  you,  yes,  every  morning  and  every 
evening.  And  for  myself  too — now. 

"God  forgives.      It  is  in  my  faith.       Oh!   my 

husband,  we  will  be  good! 

"Thy  Yvonne." 

Gethryn's  eyes  blurred  on  the  page,  and  he 
sat  a  long  time,  very  still,  not  offering  to  open 
his  remaining  letters.  Presently  he  raised  his 
head  and  looked  into  the  street.  It  was  dusk, 
and  the  lamps  along  the  lake  side  were  lighted. 
He  had  to  light  his  candles  to  read  by. 

The  next  was  from  Braith — a  short  note. 


IN  THE  QUARTER  299 

"Everything  is   ready,  Rex,  your   old    studio 

cleaned  and  dusted  until  you  would  not  know  it. 

"I  have  kept  the  key  always  by    me,  and    no 

one  but  myself  has  ever  entered  it  since  you  left. 

"I  will  meet  you  at   the   station, —and    when 

you  are  really  here  I  shall  begin  to   live   again. 

"Au  revoir, 

"Braith." 

It  seemed  as  if  Gethryn  would  never  get  on 
with  his  correspondence.  He  sat  and  held  this 
letter  as  he  had  done  the  other.  A  deep  mel 
ancholy  possessed  him.  He  did  not  care  to 
move.  At  last,  impatiently,  he  tore  the  third 
envelope.  It  contained  a  long  letter  from 
Clifford. 

"My  blessed  boy,"  it  said.  "We  learn  from 
Papa  Braith  that  you  will  be  here  before 
long,  but  the  old  chump  won't  tell  when, 
He  intends  to  meet  you  all  alone  at  the  station, 
and  wishes  to  dispense  with  a  gang  and  a  brass 
band.  We  think  that's  deuced  selfish.  You 
are  our  prodigal  as  well  as  his,  and  we  are  con 
sidering  several  plans  for  getting  even  with  Pa. 

"One  is  to  tell  you  all  the  news  before  he  has 
a  chance.  And  I  will  begin  at  once. 


300  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Thaxton  has  gone  home,  and  opened  a  studio 
in  New  York.  The  Colossus  has  grown  two 
more  inches  and  hates  to  hear  me  mention  the 
freak  museums  in  the  Bowery.  Carleton  is  a 
hubby,  and  wifey  is  English  and  captivating. 
Rowden  told  me  one  day  he  was  going  to  get 
married  too.  When  I  asked  her  name  he  said 
he  didn't  know.  Some  one  with  red  hair. 

"When  I  remarked  that  he  was  a  little  in  that 
way  himself,  he  said  yes,  he  knew  it,  and  he 
intended  to  found  a  race  of  that  kind,  to  be 
known  as  the  Red  Rowdens.  Elliott's  brindle 
died,  and  we  sold  ours.  We  now  keep  two 
Russian  blood-hounds.  When  you  come  to  my 
room,  knock  first,  for  'Baby'  doesn't  like  to  be 
startled. 

"Braith  has  kept  your  family  together,  in  your 
old  studio.  The  parrot  and  the  raven  are  two 
old  fiends  and  will  live  forever.  Mrs.  Gum- 
midge  periodically  sheds  litters  of  kittens,  to 
Braith's  indignation.  He.  gives  them  to  the 
concierge,  who  sells  them  at  a  high  price,  I  don't 
know  for  what  purpose;  I  have  two  of  the 
Gummidge  children.  The  bull  pups  are  pups 
no  longer,  but  they  are  beauties  and  no  mis- 


IN  THE  QUAHTEH  301 


take.      All     the     same,     wait     until     you     see 
1  Baby.' 

"I  met  Yvonne  in  the  Louvre  last  week.  I'm 
glad  you  are  all  over  that  affair,  for  she's  going 
to  be  married,  she  told  me.  She  looked  pret 
tier  than  ever,  and  as  happy  as  she  was  pretty. 
She  was  with  old  Bordier  of  the  Fauvette,  and 
his  wife,  and—  think  of  this!  she's  coming  out 
in  Belle  Helene!  Well!  I'm  glad  she's  all  right, 
for  she  was  too  nice  to  go  the  usual  way. 

"Poor  little  Bulfinch  shot  himself  in  the  Bois 
last  June.  He  had  delirium  tremens.  Poor 
little  chap! 

"There's  a  Miss  Dene  here,  who  knows  you. 
Braith  has  met  her.  She's  a  beauty,  he  says, 
and  she's  also  a  stunning  girl,  possessing  man 
ners,  and  morals,  and  dignity,  and  character, 
and  religion  and  all  that  you  and  I  have  not,  my 
son.  Braith  says  she  isn't  too  good  for  you 
when  you  are  at  your  best;  but  we  know  better, 
Reggie;  any  good  girl  is  too  good  for  the  likes 
of  us. 

"Hasten  to  my  arms,  Reginald!  You  will 
find  them  at  No.  640  Rue  Notre  Dame  des 
Champs,  chez, 

"Foxhall  Clifford,  Esq." 


302  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Leaving  Clifford's  letter  and  the  newspapers 
on  the  table,  Rex  took  his  hat,  put  out  the  light, 
and  went  down  to  the  street.  As  he  stood  in 
the  door,  looking  off  at  the  dark  lake,  he  folded 
Yvonne's  letter  and  placed  it  in  his  breast.  He 
held  Braith's  a  moment  more  and  then  laid  it 
beside  hers. 

The  air  was  brisk;  he  buttoned  his  coat  about 
him.  Here  and  there  a  moonbeam  touched  the 
lapping  edge  of  the  water,  or  flashed  out  in  the 
open  stretch  beyond  the  point  of  pines.  High 
over  the  pines  hung  a  cliff,  blackening  the  water 
all  around  with  fathomless  shadow. 

A  waiter  came  lounging  by,  his  hands  tucked 
beneath  his  coat-tails.  "What  point  is  that? 
The  one  which  overhangs  the  pines  there  ?"  asked 
Rex. 

"Gracious  sir!"  said  the  waiter,  "that  is  the 
Schicksalfels." 

"Why  'Schicksal-fels'?" 

"Has  the  gracious  gentleman  never  heard  the 
legend  of  the  'Rock  of  Fate'  ?" 

"No,  and  on  second  thoughts,  I  don't  care  to 
hear  it  now.  Another  time.  Good- night!" 

"Ah!  the  gentleman  is  too  good!  Thousand 
thanks!  Gute  Nacht,  gnadiger  Herr!" 


/>/  THE  QUARTER  §63 

Gethryn  remained  looking  at  the  crags. 

"They  cannot  be  half  a  mile  from  here,"  he 
thought.  "I  suppose  the  path  is  good  enough; 
if  not,  I  can  turn  back.  The  lake  will  look  well 
from  there  by  moonlight."  And  he  found  him 
self  moving  up  a  little  footpath  which  branched 
below  the  hotel. 

It  was  pleasant,  brisk  walking.  The  air  had 
a  touch  of  early  frost  in  it.  Gethryn  swung 
along  at  a  good  pace,  pulling  his  cap  down, 
and  fastening  the  last  button  of  his  coat. 
The  trees  threw  long  shadows  across  the  path, 
hiding  it  from  view,  except  where  the  moonlight 
fell  white  on  the  moist  gravel.  The  moon  her 
self  was  past  the  full,  and  not  very  bright;  a 
film  of  mist  was  drawing  over  the  sky.  Geth 
ryn,  looking  up,  thought  of  that  gentle  moon 
which  once  sailed  ghost-like  at  high  noon 
through  the  blue  zenith  among  silver  clouds 
while  a  boy  lay  beside  the  stream  with  rod  and 
creel;  and  then  he  remembered  the  dear  old 
yellow  moon  that  used  to  flood  the  nursery  with 
pools  of  light  and  pile  strange  moving  shades 
about  his  bed.  And  then  he  saw,  still  looking 
up,  the  great  white  globe  that  hung  above  the 


S04  /#  THE  QUARTER 

frozen  river,  striking  blue  sparks  from  the  ring 
ing  skates. 

He  felt  lonely,  and  a  trifle  homesick.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life, — he  was  still  so  young, 
—he  thought  of  his  childhood  and  his  boyhood 
as  something  gone  beyond  recall. 

He  had  nearly  reached  his  destination;  just 
before  him  the  path  entered  a  patch  of  pine 
woods,  and  emerged  from  it,  shortly,  upon  the 
flat-topped  rock  which  he  was  seeking.  Under 
the  first  arching  branches  he  stopped  and  looked 
back  at  the  marred  moon  in  the  mist-covered 
sky. 

"I  am  sick  of  this  wandering,"  he  thought. 
"Wane  quickly!  Your  successor  shall  shine  on 
my  home:  Yvonne's  and  mine." 

And,  thinking  of  Yvonne,  he  passed  into  the 
shadows  which  the  pines  cast  upon  the  Schicksal- 
fels. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Paris  lay  sparkling  under  a  cold,  clear  sky. 
The  brilliant  streets  lay  coiled  along  the  Seine, 
and  stretched  glittering  from  bank  to  bank, 
from  boulevard  to  boulevard;  cafes,  brasseries, 
concert  halls,  and  theatres,  in  the  yellow  blaze 
of  gas  and  the  white  and  violet  of  electricity. 

It  was  not  late,  but  people  who  entered  the 
lobby  of  the  Theatre  Fauvette  turned  away  be 
fore  the  placard  "Standing  room  only." 

Somewhere  in  the  city  a  bell  sounded  the 
hour,  and  with  the  last  stroke  the  drop-curtain 
fell  on  the  first  act  of  "La  Belle  Helene." 

It  fell  amidst  a  whirlwind  of  applause,  in 
which  the  orchestra  led. 

The  old  leader  of  the  violins  shook  his  head, 
however.  He  had  been  there  twenty  years, 
and  he  had  never  before  heard  of  singing  in 
comic  opera. 

"No,    no,"    he   said,    "she  can't    stay     here. 


Dame!  she  sings!" 


305 


306  IN  THE  QUARTER 

Madame  Bordier  was  pale  and  happy;  her 
good  husband  was  weak  with  joy.  The  mem 
bers  of  the  troupe  had  not  yet  had  time  to  be 
jealous,  and  they,  too,  applauded. 

As  for  the  house,  it  was  not  only  conquered, 
it  was  wild  with  enthusiasm.  The  lobbies  were 
thronged. 

Braith  ran  up  against  Rowden  and  Elliott. 

"By  Jove!"  they  cried,  with  one  voice,  "who'd 
have  thought  the  little  girl  had  all  that  in  her? 
I  say,  Braith,  does  Rex  know  about  her?  When 
is  he  coming?" 

"Rex  doesn't  know  and  doesn't  care.  Rex  is 
cured,"  said  Braith.  "And  he's  coming  next 
week.  Where's  Clifford?"  he  added,  to  make  a 
diversion. 

"Clifford  promised  to  meet  us  here.  He'll  be 
along  soon." 

The  pair  went  out  for  refreshments,  and  Braith 
returned  to  his  seat. 

The  wait  between  the  acts  proved  longer  than 
was  agreeable,  and  people  grumbled.  The 
machinery  would  not  work,  and  two  heavy 
scenes  had  to  be  shifted  by  hand.  Good  Mon 
sieur  Bordier  flew  about  the  stage  in  a  delirium 


IN  THE  QUARTER  307 

of  excitement.  No  one  would  have  recognized 
him  for  the  eminently  reasonable  being  he  ap 
peared  in  private  life.  He  called  the  stage 
hands  "Prussian  pigs!"  and  "Spanish  cattle !"  and 
expressed  his  intention  to  dismiss  the  whole  force 
to-morrow. 

Yvonne,  ready  dressed,  stood  at  the  door  of 
her  room,  looking  along  the  alley  of  dusty 
scenery  to  where  a  warm  glow  revealed  the  close 
proximity  of  the  foot-lights.  There  was  con 
siderable  unprofessional  confusion,  and  not  a 
little  sky-larking  going  on  among  the  company, 
who  took  advantage  of  the  temporary  interrup 
tion. 

Yvonne  stood  in  the  door  of  her  dressing- 
room,  and  dreamed,  seeing  nothing. 

Her  pretty  figure  was  draped  in  a  Grecian 
tunic  of  creamy  white,  bordered  with  gold;  her 
soft,  dark  hair  was  gathered  in  a  simple  knot. 

Presently  she  turned  and  entered  her  dressing- 
room,  closing  the  door.  Then  she  sat  down 
before  the  mirror,  her  chin  resting  on  her  hands, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  her  reflected  eyes,  a  faint  smile 
curving  her  lips. 

"Oh!    you  happy  girl!"  she    thought.    "You 


308  iN  THE  QUARTER 

happy,  happy  girl!  And  just  a  little  frightened, 
for  to-morrow  he  will  come.  And  when  he  says, 
— for  he  will  say  it, — 'Yvonne,  must  we  wait?' 
I  shall  tell  him,  'No!  take  me  now  if  you  will!'" 

Without  a  knock  the  door  burst  open.  A  rush 
of  music  from  the  orchestra  came  in.  Yvonne 
thought,  "So  they  have  begun  at  last!"  The 
same  moment  she  rose  with  a  faint,  heart-sick 
cry.  Her  sister  closed  the  door  and  fastened  it, 
shutting  out  all  sound  but  that  of  her  terrible 
voice.  Yvonne  blanched  and  blanched,  as  she 
looked  on  that  malignant  face.  With  a  sudden 
faintness  she  leaned  back,  pressing  one  hand  to 
her  heart. 

"You  received  my  letter?"   said   the   woman. 

Yvonne  did  not  answer.  Her  sister  stamped 
and  came  nearer.  "Speak!"  she  cried. 

Yvonne  shrank  and  trembled,  but  kept  her 
resolute  eyes  on  the  cruel  eyes  approaching  hers. 

"Shall  I  tear  an  answer  from  you?"  said  the 
woman,  always  coming  nearer.  "Do  you  think 
I  will  wait  your  pleasure,  now?" 

No  answer. 

"He  is  here, — Mr.  Blumenthal;  he  is  waiting 
for  you.  You  dare  not  refuse  him  again!  You 


IN  THE  QUARTER  309 

will  come  with  us,  now,  after  the  opera.  Do 
you  hear?  You  will  come.  There  is  no  more 
time.  It  must  be  now.  I  told  you  there  would 
be  time,  but  there  is  none — none!" 

Yvonne's  maid  knocked  at  the  door  and 
called: 

"Mademoiselle,  c'est  I'heuAC-. 

"Answer!"  hissed  the  woman. 

Yvonne,  speechless,  holding  both  hands  to 
her  heart,  kept  her  eyes  on  her  sister's  face. 
That  face  grew  ashen;  the  eyes  had  the  blank 
glare  of  a  tiger's;  she  sprang  up  ^onne  and 
grasped  her  by  the  wrists. 

"Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle!  c'est  1'heure!" 
Called  the  maid,  shaking  the  door. 

"Fool!"  hissed  her  sister,  "you  think  you  will 
marry  the  American!" 

"Mademoiselle  Descartes!  mais  Mademoiselle 
Descartes!"  cried  Monsieur's  voice  without. 

"Let  me  go!"  panted  Yvonne,  struggling 
wildly. 

"Go!"  screamed  the  woman,  "go,  and  sing! 
You  can  not  marry  him!  He  is  dead!"  and  she 
struck  the  girl  with  her  clenched  fist. 

The  door  torn  open,  crashed  behind  her,  and 


310  IN  THE  QUARTER 

immediately  swung  back  again  to  admit  Ma 
dame. 

"My  child!  my  child!  What  is  it?  What 
ails  you?  Quick,  or  it  will  be  too  late!  Ah! 
try,  try,  my  child!" 

She  was  in  tears  of  despair. 

Taking  her  beseeching  hand,  Yvonne  moved 
toward  the  stage. 

"Oui,  chere  Madame!"  she  said. 

The  chorus  swelled  around  her. 

"Oh!  reine  en  ce  jour!" 

rose,  fell,  ebbed  away,  and  left  her  standing 
alone. 

She  heard  a  voice, — "Tell  me,  Venus — "  but 
she  hardly  knew  it  for  her  own.  It  was  all  dark 
before  her  eyes, — while  the  mad  chorus  of  Kings 
went  on,  "For  us,  what  joy!" — thundering  away 
along  the  wings. 

"Fear  Calchas!" 

"Seize  him!" 

"Let  Calchas  fear!" 

And  then  she  began  to  sing, — to  sing  as  she 
had  never  sung  before.  Sweet,  thrilling,  her 
voice  poured  forth  into  the  crowded  auditorium. 
The  people  sat  spell-bound.  There  was  a  rap- 


IN  THE  QUARTER  311 

ment  of  silence;  no  one  offered  to  applaud. 
And  then  she  began  again. 

"Oui  c'est  un  reve, 

Un  reve  doux  d'amour, — " 

She  faltered,— 

"La  nuit  lui  prete  son  mystere, 
II  doithnir  avec  le  jour — " 

the  voice  broke.  Men  were  standing  up  in  the 
audience.  One  cried  out: 

"II— doit— finir— " 

The  music  clashed  in  one  great  discord. 

Why  did  the  stage  reel  under  her?  What  was 
the  shouting? 

Her  heavy,  dark  hair  fell  down  about  her  lit 
tle  white  face,  as  she  sank  on  her  knees,  and 
covered  her  as  she  lay  her  slender  length  along 
the  stage. 

The  orchestra  and  the  audience  sprang  to 
their  feet.  The  great  blank  curtain  rattled  to 
the  ground.  A  whirlwind  swept  over  the  house. 

Monsieur  Bordier  stepped  before  the  curtain. 

"My  friends!"  he  began,  but  his  voice  failed, 
and  he  only  added,  "C'est  fini!" 

With  hardly  a  word  the  audience  moved  to 
the  exits.  But  Braith,  turning  to  the  right,  made 


313  IN  THE  QUARTER 

his  way  through  a  long,  low  passage,  and  strode 
toward  a  little  stage  door.  It  was  flung  open 
and  a  man  hurried  past  him. 

"Monsieur!"  called  Braith —"Monsieur!" — 

But  Monsieur  Bordier  was  crying  like  a  child, 
and  kept  on  his  way,  without  answering. 

The  narrow  corridor  was  now  rilled  with  hurry 
ing,  excited  figures,  in  gauze  and  tinsel,  sham 
armor,  and  painted  faces.  They  pressed  Braith 
back,  but  he  struggled  and  fought  his  way  to 
the  door. 

A  Sergeant  de  Ville  shouldered  through  the 
crowd.  He  was  dragging  a  woman  along  by  the 
arm.  Another  policeman  came  behind,  urging 
her  forward.  Somehow  she  slipped  from  them, 
and  sank,  cowering  against  the  wall.  Braith's 
eyes  met  hers.  She  cowered  still  lower. 

A  slender,  sallow  man  had  been  quietly  slip 
ping  through  the  throng.  A  red-faced  fellow 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Pardon!  I  think  this  is  Mr.  Emanuel   Pick." 

"No!"  stammered  the  man,  and  started  to  run. 

Braith  blocked  his  way.  The  red-faced  de 
tective  was  at  his  side. 

"So,  you  are  Mr.  Emanuel  Pick!" 


IN  THE  QUARTER  313 

"No!"  gasped  the  other. 

"He  lies!  He  lies!"  yelled  the  woman,  from 
the  floor. 

The  Jew  reeled  back,  and,  with  a  piercing 
scream,  tore  at  his  handcuffed  wrists.  Braith 
whispered  to  the  detective: 

"What  has  the  woman  done?  What  is  the 
charge?" 

"Charge?  There  are  a  dozen.  The  last  is 
murder," 

The  woman  had  fainted  and  they  carried  her 
away.  The  light  fell  a  moment  on  the  Jew's 
livid  face,  the  next  Braith  stood  under  the  dark 
porch  of  the  empty  theater.  The  confusion  was 
all  at  the  stage  entrance.  Here,  in  front,  the 
deserted  street  was  white  and  black  and  silent, 
under  the  electric  lamps.  All  the  lonelier  for 
two  wretched  gamins,  counting  their  dirty  sous, 
and  draggled  newspapers. 

When  they  saw  Braith  they  started  for  him; 
one  was  ahead  in  the  race,  but  the  other  gained 
on  him,  reached  him,  dealt  him  a  merciless 
blow,  and  panted  up  to  Braith. 

The  defeated  one,  crying  bitterly,  gathered 
up  his  scattered  papers  from  the  gutter. 


314  IN  THE  QUARTER 

"Curse  you,Rigaud!  you  hound!"  he  cried, in  a 
passion  of  tears,  "Curse  you,  son  of  a  murderer!" 

The  first  gamin  whipped  out  a  paper  and 
thrust  it  toward  Braith. 

"Buy  it,  Monsieur!"  he  whined,  "the  last 
edition,  full  account  of  the  Boulangist  riot  this 
morning;  burning  of  the  Prussian  flags;  ex 
plosion  on  a  war-ship;  murder  in  Germany, 
discovered  by  an  English  Milord — " 

Braith  was  walking  fast;  the  gamin  ran  by 
his  side  for  a  moment,  but  soon  gave  it  up. 
Braith  walked  faster  and  faster;  he  was  almost 
running,  when  he  reached  his  own  door.  There 
was  a  light  in  his  window.  He  rushed  up  the 
stairs,  and  into  his  room. 

Clifford  was  sitting  there,his  head  in  his  hands. 
B/aith  touched  him,  trying  to  speak  lightly. 

"Are  you  asleep,  old  man?" 

Clifford  raised  a  colorless  face  to  his. 

"What  is  it?     Can't  you  speak?" 

But  Clifford  only  pointed  to  a  crumpled  tele 
gram  lying  on  the  table,  and  hid  his  face  again 
as  Braith  raised  the  paper  to  the  light. 

TOE  END 


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